


One for Sorrow

by tejaswrites



Series: The Grace of Shadows: Persephone Hawke & Knight-Captain Rylen [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Duty, F/M, Grief/Mourning, It's not all dark but, Lyrium Addiction, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Mage-Templar Relationship, Mental Health Issues, Non-classical tragedy, Obsession, POV Alternating, POV Third Person, Prophecy, Rylen's a good man, Secret Relationship, Self-Sacrifice, Templars (Dragon Age), Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27165511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tejaswrites/pseuds/tejaswrites
Summary: Persephone Hawke was a born a tragedy, destined for a life of duty and sacrifice. Instead of fearing her fate, she welcomed it, giving everything for the greater good and for Kirkwall no matter the personal cost. To protect Kirkwall, she heads south to confront the Inquisition, where she finds the only person who’d almost convinced her there was more to life than her duty.When Rylen left Kirkwall, all he had was a broken heart and the memories. With the world in chaos, he leaves the Templars and Starkhaven to join the Inquisition in their mission to set it right again. When Persephone arrives, he refuses to walk away again, even as their future seems to be slipping from his grasp once more.The youngest son of a minor Marcher noble, Inquisitor Maxton Trevelyan knows of Viscountess Hawke, everyone does, but meeting her shifts his world in ways he never saw coming. She is everything he never knew he wanted and he will stop at nothing to have her.Even as the bonds of her duty grow tighter and the hour for her to leap ever nearer, Persephone sees an opportunity to right the mistakes she made in Kirkwall and fulfill her duty to Thedas, no matter the cost.
Relationships: Female Hawke/Rylen (Dragon Age), Hawke/Rylen (Dragon Age)
Series: The Grace of Shadows: Persephone Hawke & Knight-Captain Rylen [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2001937
Comments: 9
Kudos: 8





	1. Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> This story has sat for far too long because it’s imperfect and, as of yet, unfinished, though I love Persephone and Rylen too much to let it languish as a WIP forever.
> 
> I’ll tell you right now this part of their story does not end well for either of them, even if they ultimately do get a happy ending. The Inquisition period has been difficult to write, but it’s a part of their story that needs to be told, because I truly believe that not all lives are perfect, bad things happen to people whether or not they deserve them, and the greatest loves contain capacity for the greatest sorrows. 
> 
> Updates will be sporadic as I finish chapters. Character tags will be updated as the character becomes part of the story, but the other tags are correct. Please heed them, as they are all relevant to this story at some point.

Wind whistled through the canyon as Persephone crossed the stone bridge toward the imposing stone fortress rising in front of her. Her pace was intentionally slow as she reveled in the frightened looks rising in the guards’ eyes at her approach. Either it was her reputation or her horse, but one of them had the mouths of the young soldiers they’d left at the gate dropping open as they watched her pass.

When she reached solid ground, one of the boys at the gate dropped to one knee and an older, more experienced soldier stepped forward. “Halt. What business have you here?”

Persephone stared at the man until he at last shifted uncomfortably under the weight of her gaze. Once he broke eye contact, she dismounted, handing the reins of her horse to another boy standing nearby. Only then did she address the man, “Tell Varric Tethras that Persephone Hawke has arrived.”

The man gave an order to another soldier standing behind him and the soldier hurried off in the direction of the stairs. Persephone tracked his movement with her eyes and simultaneously took in the courtyard. 

Birds were beginning to gather.

“That’s the Lady Viscountess, ser,” the kneeling boy whispered up at his superior, his voice carrying on the wind.

Persephone tilted her head as she looked over at the boy. Something about him was...familiar. “You there, what’s your name?”

“Percy Morris, my lady. Of Kirkwall.”

“You were with the guard, were you not? Under Guard-Captain Vallen?” Persephone fought the sneer that wrinkled her nose at the mention of her former companion. And perpetual thorn in her side.

“Yes, my lady.”

“Kirkwall thanks you for your service.” She turned back to the higher-ranking officer still standing in front of her. Lyrium coursed through his stiff body. “And you look like a Templar. Ser…?”

“Fletcher.”

Persephone nodded at him in acknowledgement, but the man didn’t move as he continued to stare back at her, waiting for the other soldier to return. She didn’t bother making nice. 

While they waited, Persephone studied the courtyard, her eyes instinctually seeking out the omens. Ten birds now perched in the trees behind the man’s head, curiously watching the proceedings in front of them.

A surprise. Interesting.

It wasn’t long before Varric rushed across the courtyard toward her. “Hawke! Glad you could make it. Oh, come on, Fletcher, let her through.” 

It was only at Varric’s insistence that Ser Fletcher stood aside to let her pass with the warning, “I’ll be watching you.”

“Do enjoy the view,” she snarked, giving her backside an extra sway as she passed the man. 

As she climbed the stairs with Varric toward the main building, she added, “Of course I came. I won’t let him get away with this.”

“I’m surprised Curly even let him consider it, to be honest. He’s a bit of a…uh, you’ll see.” When they arrived at the top of the stairs, massive wooden doors to the fortress cracked open in front of them, Varric asked, “Here we are. You sure about this?”

“Abso- _fucking_ -lutely.” Persephone didn’t hesitate as she sent a blast of air at the doors, throwing them wide. 

The entire room was ensconced by a deathly silence as she strode into the room, heading straight for the throne at the opposite end of the hall. A young man—human—sat upon it with one ankle casually crossed over his knee, hands templed in front of his chest as he watched her approach with a steady gaze.

The young man was golden. All of him. He had golden hair and golden skin… He was like the sun itself, bright and shining, sitting on a golden throne of flames. If it weren’t for the scar on the right side of his face, he would be a perfectly formed human.

No wonder they chose him as their prophet. He looked every bit the part.

Several guards stepped forward to intercept her, but a familiar voice called out, “Let her pass.”

Her eyes flickered over to where Cullen Rutherford, former knight-commander of Kirkwall’s Templar garrison, stood to the left of the man on the throne. She’d deal with him later. Right now, all her fury was directed at the man immediately in front of her.

Though calling him a man was too generous. He was little more than a youth, half her age at best. With the ignorance of youth too, she thought, as watched her approach without a shred of concern in his golden brown eyes.

“What in the Void do you think you’re doing?” she fumed as she reached the steps at the base of the throne and climbed toward him. When she was within several yards of the man, Cullen lifted a hand in warning to not to go any further.

“Well that was quite an entrance…” The man drawled as he peered at her. “Who exactly are you?”

Persephone pressed her lips together in annoyance as a dark-haired woman to the man’s right cleared her throat and leaned down to whisper in his ear. The young man continued, “Ahh, Viscountess Hawke, is it?”

“And one might presume you’re the one they call Herald of Andraste,” she snapped back.

“Mmm, yes, but it’s Inquisitor now.” His casual tone nearly had her throwing furniture about, though she took a deep breath instead. 

She hated how much she needed his help, barely coating it in civility as she said, “Well, _Inquisitor_ , I will ask again, what in the Void are you doing assisting Starkhaven?”

“Starkhaven? Is that what this”—he gestured at the room around them with a flippant wave of his hand—“is all about?”

“You _cannot_ seriously be considering helping him invade Kirkwall.”

“Was I?” The man tilted his face toward Cullen with an inquisitive look on his face.

“Haw—” Cullen uncomfortably cleared his throat. “Viscountess. Perhaps we could speak of this somewhere less…public?”

She glared at the young man sitting on the throne in front of her, the apathy in his eyes doing nothing to quell the rising fury within her. Not only had he stolen her knight-commander, further weakening her war-torn city, but now he dared send Inquisition emissaries to assist in the annexation of Kirkwall. _Her_ city. If Varric hadn’t sent her the emergency missive, she never would have known and Kirkwall would be lost.

“Yes, lovely idea, Commander,” the dark-haired woman across from Cullen effused. “We should convene in the war room at once.” 

War room? Persephone tore her eyes from the inquisitor and turned to Cullen, questioning with her eyes. He tilted his head almost imperceptibly at a door about halfway down the room, before turning back to the man next to him. “Inquisitor.”

“Very well.” The man stood and moved to the door, the dark-haired woman hurrying after him. Cullen descended the steps and signaled to Persephone that they should walk together. 

As soon as they were through the door into a side room—an office by the looks of it—he turned to her. “I know what it looks like, Hawke, but we were never going to assist Starkhaven.” 

Persephone pressed her lips together. “How could your inquisitor even consider it? That man—”

“Hawke,” Cullen warned, but it was too late.

“That man is trying to ruin my life. As if I haven’t given enough!” she raged, “I’ve given _everything_ for Kirkwall and he would—what?—take it out of spite? Because of the decisions of one, _dead_ man?”

Cullen’s brow furrowed and he lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I know.”

“How could your inquisitor—”

“This is not on him. He didn’t know.” 

She snapped her mouth shut and stared at Cullen. He pulled a door shut behind them as they entered yet another hallway much colder than the last, thanks to the gaping hole in the wall which both wind and snow blew through.

Persephone sent a blast of air hurtling at the wall, pushing some of the snow out. It was a futile attempt, she knew it was, but it made her feel better. “How in the gods’ names could he not know?” 

“He hasn’t seen the letter. I haven’t shown it to him.”

Persephone turned and stared at Cullen. She could feel the incredulity spreading across it. “ _You_ did this?”

“You disappeared,” Cullen told her flatly. “I did what I had to do to find you.”

“Rutherford, I’m going to—”

“Save it,” he clipped as he pushed open yet another door into a large room in front of them. Together, they entered a massive room, not quite as large as the hall the inquisitor had been presiding over previously, but still enormous. Large stained glass windows covered the walls, encircling them in a halo of golden light.

Cullen ushered her to the massive table in the center, leaving her next to the golden boy inquisitor, before he made his way around the table to stand in the center on the opposite side, between the dark-haired woman and a red-head that looked somewhat familiar. 

“Do I know you?” Persephone asked.

The woman didn’t answer, merely giving her a smile that meant nothing in response. 

“I don’t believe _we’ve_ had the pleasure of an introduction,” the inquisitor drawled from next to her. 

Persephone glared at him. 

“Lord Maxton Trevelyan. Of Ostwick,” he continued, nonplussed.

“I know who you are,” she spat. 

“As I know who you are, Viscountess, but civility dictates introductions.”

“And what makes you think I’m civil?” she asked, continuing to stare at him. She noticed the way his nostrils slightly flared as he gazed back at her.

“Inquisitor,” Cullen interrupted, “This is Lady Persephone Hawke, Viscountess of Kirkwall. Hawke, this is—”

“He already told me his name. This is ridiculous.”

Cullen’s eyes told her he agreed, but he didn’t say anything more. 

“Well!” The dark-haired woman from earlier exclaimed. “It is such a relief that you’ve joined us, Lady Hawke. We were sorely in need of your expertise when—”

“Sorely?” The inquisitor interrupted, giving her a sharp look.

“Not _sorely_ , what I meant was that the viscountess has connections that we can call upon to support the cause of the Inquisition.”

“Not if you’re going to invade Kirkwall!” Persephone turned back toward Cullen. “How could you? We pulled that city from the brink—”

“This is the first I’ve heard of invading,” Trevelyan interrupted. “Elaborate, Commander.”

“We received a request from Prince Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven.” Cullen glanced at Persephone as he passed the letter to the inquisitor.

Persephone leaned over to read over his shoulder. “‘I do this for the good of the city’,” she quoted. “Does he truly believe that?”

“‘And all the Free Marches’,” the inquisitor continued. “I fear that he is quite misguided.” 

“Of course he is,” she said as she turned to look at him. “How can he speak for the entire Marches when it’s his personal crusade?”

“Hawke,” Cullen warned, but the inquisitor waved his hand to quiet him.

“I did everything for that city. And that man! He’s become unhinged, for what? Because I wouldn’t make a martyr of Anders?” 

“It’s more than that,” the red-headed woman spoke up. 

Persephone had forgotten the woman was even there. “Who are you?” 

“I am the Nightingale.”

Ahh. That explained it. What _was_ that woman’s name? They’d met briefly in Kirkwall, and Persephone would just as soon never have seen her again. Thought she was correct, as much as it annoyed her. Sebastian was angry about more than her refusal to martyr Anders. In his anger, he’d started referring to her as the Whore of Kirkwall. It was meant to cripple her and make the people, and especially the nobility, hate her. Though much to his consternation, she’d embraced it. Let the people believe what they wanted. 

Orlais had been thoroughly entertained. The Free Marches, less so, but her refusal to capitulate won out in the end. She was Kirkwall’s champion—the one who’d saved them—and all Sebastian was was the wayward son of a dead prince.

Persephone stared at the other woman as she asked, “What are you implying?”

“Merely that the prince may have wanted something he couldn’t have. That, coupled with your refusal to indulge him, pushed him to a breaking point.”

“He is rumored to be… consumed by his desire for vengeance,” the dark-haired woman agreed.

“Perhaps we could use that to our advantage…”

“I don’t believe we’ve met either,” Persephone finally directly addressed the woman. She looked as though she came from even further north than the Free Marches and had the accent to match. 

“Oh! I’m Josephine Montilyet. Ambassador of the Inquisition.” 

“A pleasure. And what are we doing about Kirkwall?”

Cullen cleared his throat. “I’d like to send troops.”

“Are you serious?” Persephone’s voice hovered on rage. “I am personally going to—”

“Hawke. There is a difference between what you want and what you should do,” he interrupted. She forced her mouth shut and glared at him. “We both know, more than anyone, how ill-equipped Guard-Captain Vallen is. The Inquisition could send troops to bolster and train her forces so she can defend the city.”

Persephone stared at him, surprised by the recommendation. It was clever. She’d always known he had it in him. Once she’d gotten the former Templar out from under his knight-commander’s thumb, he’d matured into a strong leader and a strategic one. She was relieved they were on the same side and that Cullen hadn’t abandoned her and Kirkwall as everyone else had, even if she hated his methods.

Cullen nodded to her and turned to the inquisitor next to her. “Inquisitor, with your permission, of course.” 

She could feel the young man’s eyes on her. “Very well. Do what you need to do, Commander.” 

Relief again flooded through her at the knowledge the Inquisition wouldn’t be assisting Sebastian, her once friend and companion, to take over the city she’d given her life to. 

She noticed the three across the table exchanging glances. “What is it?” 

The inquisitor looked at her again, his head cocked to the side. “They’re my advisors, you know.” 

“What?”

“ _My_ advisors. Not yours. They don’t owe you an explanation.”

Persephone was taken aback by the young man’s arrogance. “Well, it would appear I’m not needed. Thank you for your support of the city of Kirkwall.”

She spun and had only taken one step toward the door when the Nightingale called after her. “Viscountess, there is more.”

Of course the woman knew who she was, but there was something about that voice...Leliana. That was her name. She considered continuing on her path to leave the room, but instead, she paused and turned back. “Oh, I can be useful?”

Cullen’s eyes shot toward the ceiling in a half roll, but Leliana continued nonplussed, “How familiar are you with what we’re doing here?”

“Not at all. I’m here for Kirkwall, not whatever this is,” she told them as she gestured around at them. 

“Too bad,” the woman continued, “You’re in it now. Corypheus attacked us at Haven. He believes that Inquisitor Trevelyan has something that belongs to him and wants it back.” 

“Did you say…Corypheus? That's...well, I’ve met him.” 

The others in the room stopped talking and gaped at her.

“So have I,” Trevelyan said at the same time Cullen asked, “You’ve met Corypheus?”

“Sure, in Kirkwall.” 

“Corypheus was in Kirkwall? Maker’s breath,” Cullen cursed.

“Not in, but nearby. There was this old dwarven…look, it doesn’t matter now. He came after you?” She turned toward the inquisitor, who was intently watching her. The apathy from earlier was gone. Instead, his eyes held a look of curiosity and interest. “That’s unfortunate.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Trevelyan told her, shrugging.

“About that…” she trailed off as she looked at the others in the room.

“What now, Hawke?” Cullen prompted. She considered not telling the whole truth, but the way Cullen was watching her, he would see through her in an instant. He’d never been afraid to call her on her bullshit…and besides, she didn’t want to lie to him. He was one of the few people she liked that she had left in the world.

“I may have released him from…whatever magical prison he was contained in.”

“So I have you to thank?” Trevelyan’s eyes burned into her. The golden brown had come alive since she’d been speaking with him.

“We defeated him! Or I thought we had. But the Grey Warden was acting strangely and…I need to talk to Varric. This is bad.”

“Agreed. But I’ll come with you,” Cullen told her.

She started to turn toward the door, but Trevelyan reached out a hand to stop her. She stilled, eyes darting toward his in question. 

“Viscountess Hawke, before you go...It would be my honor if you’d join me for dinner tonight.”

Persephone’s eyes flitted toward Cullen before she looked back at the young man in front of her. He was attractive enough, but he _was_ young. At least ten years younger than herself she would guess, maybe more. Although she’d been called the Whore of Kirkwall as a means to discredit her, it hadn’t been entirely wrong. 

But it also had been years since she’d done anything to deserve that epithet. Her only serious lover had left Kirkwall four years prior and since him, the activities that had once been considered a pastime of the great Champion of Kirkwall were no longer of interest to her. “I’d prefer to visit with my friends tonight, Your Lordship, but perhaps another night?” 

His eyes burned with a fire there would be no getting out of. “I’ll hold you to that, Viscountess.”

***

Cullen and Persephone were matched stride for stride as they exited the war room and made their way through the hall. He gestured to a side door across the room instead of the main entrance she’d come through earlier. “This way.” 

He pulled the door open and she glared at him on the way by. Another set of doors and they were on a stone bridge that looked out across the courtyard of the keep. The one she’d stood in no more than an hour before. 

Two birds flew across their path and Persephone pulled up short. Joy? What in Thedas was there to be _joyful_ about right now?

Cullen gave her a funny look as he continued on through the next door and held it open for her. The stacked papers and neat rows of books had Cullen’s name written all over it. Persephone turned on him, “How could you do that to Kirkwall? Was there not any other way?” 

“There wasn’t,” he told her, sighing as he ran his hand through his hair. “We need you.”

“No. You don’t. Your Inquisition will do fine without me. It seems your inquisitor couldn’t be better. Noble born. Connections and money come with that.”

“But you’re the Champion of Kirkwall.” He held his hands up helplessly in front of him. “You could have changed everything.”

“I’m an apostate and, worse, a heathen. Don’t forget that’s all these people will ever see.”

Cullen crossed his arms and the two of them stared at one another. After a few tense seconds, his eyes became less narrowed and started to dance. Persephone tried to maintain her frown as long as she could, but she couldn’t take it anymore. A lopsided smile spread across his face at the same time a grin spread across on hers. “It’s good to see you, Hawke. I’d give you a hug, but I suspect you’d make me regret that.”

Persephone settled for punching his arm. “Kirkwall is lost without you. _I’m_ lost without you. Vallen is not cut out for it.”

“I know. That’s why we need to get her help.”

Cullen quickly traversed the room to his desk, shuffling through some of the papers stacked on top of it. The mess his desk had been in Kirkwall was nothing compared to now. “Oh, by the way…there’s something you should know before you go wandering around.” 

“Let me guess, my darling brother found his way here?” She laughed, “Gods, if only he had the sense.” 

As Cullen pressed his lips together, the truth dawned on her. “For fuck’s sake, really?” She dropped her head back in annoyance and felt the magic prickling at her fingertips. “How is that even possible? I thought he was with the Templars somewhere!”

“He was, but the inquisitor sought the Templar’s aid and Carver was with them. He did well, fighting against the...corrupted ones, and now he’s with us.”

Lady give me strength, she thought. Carver was the last person she wanted to see. She’d managed to avoid him for years, and she didn’t intend to stop now.

A knock sounded on one of the side doors and Cullen glanced toward it. “Enter!”

Persephone was still thinking about what seeing Carver again would mean when she heard the voice— _his_ voice. The rolling lilt sent tremors down her spine and her heart skipped a beat. “Viscountess. It’s a pleasure to see you.”

It was as though the Lady had stolen the air from her. She couldn’t breathe as she slowly turned to stare at the man now standing in front of her. There was the face she’d learned as well as her own during those months in Kirkwall. Except...it wasn’t exactly the same. It was Rylen all right, but somehow both a softer and harder version of the man who’d left her behind. 

There was a contentedness about him and he looked...good. _Very_ good. Curls sprouted in every direction, replacing the short Templar cut he’d donned in Kirkwall. And he looked to be growing a beard, though it didn’t hide the new scar on the left side of his face, cutting up above his jaw line.

She sucked in a breath, and memories she’d been ignoring for the better part of four years flared inside her. The memories of everything they’d left unfinished were painful now that he stood in front of her once more. The aspersorium had shown her what could have been if only she’d had given them the chance. She’d wanted him to find happiness—it’s why she’d ended it—but having to see that he’d found it without her twisted the pain in her heart like a sharp dagger. 

Four years was a long time. Perhaps too long.

Cullen cleared his throat and Persephone snapped her gaze to Rylen’s eyes. His beautiful blue eyes that had always pierced through whatever defenses she’d tried to erect to protect herself. “Knight-Captain Clacher. How unexpected, though I am pleased to know you aren’t in Starkhaven.” 

As Rylen narrowed his eyes, his lips parted. The slight movement reminded her of how soft his lips had been against her skin. Persephone itched to reach for him, to run her fingers over his skin and feel the warmth of him once more. 

“You didn’t know I was here.” It was a statement, not a question.

“No,” Persephone glared at Cullen. “ _Somebody_ forgot to mention it.”

Rylen’s nostrils flared as his eyes flickered toward Cullen. Cullen uncrossed his arms and shifted on his feet, “I didn’t know it mattered.”

“Of course it does!” Persephone countered, before snapping her mouth shut at the look on Cullen’s face. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“Then what brings you here?” Her heart hammered as she turned toward Rylen again, though his face was now carefully devoid of any expression.

A minute in the man’s presence and she was already slipping up. How could she feel this strongly about him even after all this time? She crossed her arms and turned away. “Sebastian is invading Kirkwall. Cullen let me believe the Inquisition was planning to help.” 

“What?”

“We couldn’t find her,” Cullen quickly defended himself, “I had to get her attention somehow.” 

“You could have at least warned me!” she shot back, sending a glare along with her words.

He gave her an exasperated look. “Where do you think Varric got the information? Not from Trevelyan.”

“You...” Persephone warned, “You are back on my shit list, Rutherford.”

“Didn’t know I’d ever gotten off it.”

Persephone shot him one more glare, before she glanced back at Rylen. There was a hint of amusement in his eye that disappeared as soon as he saw her looking at him. She bit back a sigh. As long as she was here, they’d have to see each other. Maybe even work together. Might as well get everything out in the open. “Rutherford, would you leave us?”

“Hawke,” Cullen sighed, “It’s my office.” 

“Please?”

She caught the slight nod Rylen gave the man before Cullen acquiesced, “All right.”

One of the side doors opened and closed again. Neither she nor Rylen moved as they stared at one another. Anticipation hung thickly in the air between them, but there was something else there too. Something that arched in the air between them. Something he couldn’t hide, not from her.

Desire.

She’d intended to talk to him and clear the air so they could work together, but the knowledge that he still wanted her had something else entirely slipping out. “Did you miss me, Templar?”

The barest hint of a lopsided smile appeared at the edge of his mouth as amusement reappeared in his eyes. “You know the answer to that.” 

“You never came back to Kirkwall.”

“You told me to leave.” He eased toward her, each step slow and deliberate.

“I had no idea you would listen.”

“That’s a lie,” he murmured when he was standing directly in front of her, close enough for her to reach out and touch if she wanted. Another thrill rolled down her spine at the thickening of his Starkhaven brogue. “You know exactly how well I follow instructions.”

Yes. Yes, she did. He could follow instructions exceedingly well. It was one of the things that made them so good together.

She let out an even breath as she took a closer look at his face. The new scar was poorly healed, the brightness of it evident even amidst his stubble. But that wasn’t what captured her attention. Instead, it was the fading black of the lines inked across his nose and chin that she couldn’t stop staring at.

“Go on,” he told her, “I know you want to.” 

Rylen’s eyes fluttered closed as she lifted her fingers up to the tattoo on his nose. The lyrium in him coming alive underneath at her touch. “I missed your tattoos,” she told him as she traced along the black line at the angle of his nose. His chest and arms were covered in matching ones, though she couldn’t see them under the layers of armor he was wearing, though she didn’t need to see them to remember exactly how they looked. She loved his tattoos, even if she didn’t understand what they meant to him.

“You missed…my tattoos?” he asked as she moved her fingers further down, lightly brushing over his lips, to his chin to explore the black lines with her fingers. Four stark black boxes were nestled among the stubble there. She traced each one, paying attention to the way his breathing changed, growing shorter and more labored.

She looked up into his eyes and smiled as she ran her thumb over his lips. “Among other things.”

His eyelashes fluttered as her hand drifted toward his jaw and her fingers ran along the new scar until she cupped his cheek. “This is new.”

“Aye.”

She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t say anything further. His eyes had darkened to a stormy sky blue and now they were fixated on her. The things his eyes were making her feel right now were… _things_ she shouldn’t be feeling, especially after they’d been apart for so long. Since he’d stepped into the room, she’d been at war within herself and at last her head overruled, reminding her why she was here, as much as her heart begged her to give in.

She had to get herself under control.

Persephone dropped her hand and stepped back. “Well, as I said, I am pleased to see that you are not in Starkhaven.”

His nostrils flared and his throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he didn’t move. “And?”

“And what?”

“Is that all?”

“Is that all _what_ , Knight-Captain?” 

He stepped toward her, filling her senses with him. His scent was like that of the earth after a summer rain and he was so close she couldn’t look away, not even if she wanted to. She tipped her head back to meet his eyes, setting her feet and her jaw as she waited for him to answer.

“Is there anything else that would please you?” he murmured, voice low and rumbling as it reached her ears.

As though he didn’t know exactly how to. Though she understood he was leaving the decision up to her. They’d been on the cusp of something wonderful once, she’d seen with her own eyes what might have been... “Do you have plans tonight, Knight-Captain Clacher?” 

“Aye,” he told her. 

She turned her face away, not wanting him to see the disappointment that bit through her. Of course he did. What did she expect? That’d he’d drop everything because of her? Yes, she selfishly thought, he always had before. “I see.” 

“But it’s just a game of cards. I’ll tell them I can’t make it.” 

“You don’t need to on my account.” She gave him a tight smile and stepped toward the door, but Rylen intercepted her.

“I’m glad to,” he told her, leaning down until she could feel his breath against her ear. He dropped his voice lower as he said, “It is good to see you, Effie.”

Then he pressed his lips to the spot behind her ear and she was gone. She splayed her fingers against his armor, wishing the layers away. “Why didn’t you come back?”

“You didn’t ask me to.” Rylen slid one hand around her back to tug her closer as the other went to her chin to tip her face up toward his. Tracing the line of the tattoo over her lower lip and chin with his thumb, he murmured, “I would’ve come for you.”

When he moved to trace her tattoo again, she sucked his thumb into her mouth and held his gaze. She teasingly twirled her tongue around as his other fingers splayed across her face and his eyes flickered. He dragged his thumb out of her mouth, down over her chin and along the middle of her neck, the dampness leaving a cool line in the cold mountain air.

Gods, she’d missed him. 

When his hand reached the base of her neck, he dropped his forehead against hers. “I can’t wait till tonight.”

She wrapped her hand around his wrist as she looked into his eyes. “Must we wait?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he let out a light huff. “I have to—”

They were interrupted by a knock on the door as a voice shouted from the other side, “Knight-Captain Rylen, you’re needed in the armory!” 

“I’m coming,” Rylen called back. 

Persephone scoffed, “Hardly.” 

His eyes questioned hers for a brief moment before he realized what she was saying. As he laughed out loud, joy blossomed inside her. 

Their time together in Kirkwall had been unlike anything she’d ever known. She never expected a _templar_ to be her match in every way and in every sense of the word. She’d pushed him to the edge, to see how far he was willing to go, and he’d met her every step of the way. She hadn’t expected him, not with who she was, and sometimes she still couldn’t believe she’d found someone like him.

Two birds indeed.

Persephone once again reached up to run her fingers along the tattoos on his chin, as though touching him made it more real. The crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes deepened and he pressed his lips to her fingertips. She smiled as she asked, “Where’s your room?”

“The barracks.” His arm tightened around her waist and he planted another kiss on the top of her head. 

“I’m not sure where I’ll be staying yet,” she told him as she slid free of his arms and started towards the door. “But I’ll find you later?”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he called after her, a promise that reminded her of those summer nights in Kirkwall and how the possibilities had seemed endless with him by her side. She glanced over her shoulder at him. A sensation she’d long go buried surfaced inside her, giving her a levity she’d had no need for since the day she’d let him walk away.

The gods had given them a second chance. She would not lose him again.


	2. Two Truths and a Lie

“Tell me how you got this one.” Effie traced the scar along his jawline with her tongue. First down toward his mouth and then she reversed direction, working her way back toward his ear. The way the tip of her tongue danced along the sensitive skin sent a shudder down his spine. 

Her long hair hung over his face like a curtain of night and he tangled his fingers in her hair, holding her face between his hands as she moved over him. All he could think about was how beautiful she was with her alabaster skin bathed in moonlight. She was radiant, even in darkness…Nae, _especially_ in darkness. 

He gazed into her eyes as emotions passed through them. In each flutter of her eyelashes and every hitch of her breath, he swore he could feel the pulsing of her heart. Rylen pulled her face toward his and pressed his lips first to one cheek and then the other. “Later?”

“I want to know. Tell me now.” She turned her face, kissing his palm as she moved her hands over his chest.

“You know I can’t think when you’re doing—” he broke off with a groan as she rolled her hips against him. “ _That_.”

She smiled as she leaned over him again and lowered her mouth to his ear, “But I want to hear the story.”

“Effie…” he shuddered, his hands making their way to grip her hips as she moved around him. More than four years may have passed since the last time he’d seen her, but it was as though no time had passed at all. They’d learned each other so well in those months that they’d just picked up where they left off.

As though she hadn’t told him to leave. As though she hadn’t been the one to put the plug and feather between them and cleave them apart all those years ago.

They’d been together less than a year in the immediate aftermath of the Kirkwall rebellion, but the immensity of what he’d felt for her took him by surprise. She moved him in a way that no other ever had. That no other ever would.

“Please?” she purred as she trailed her lips along the path of his scar again, sending shudders down his spine once more. 

He knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t let it go. “After the explosion, there were demons everywhere. One got me, nasty bugger.”

“Weren’t there healers?” 

“Wasna life-threatening. They had more important things to do. I dinna want to talk about that anymore.”

“Why not?”

He ran his hands up along the sides of her, savoring the familiar shape of her body with his hands. Hers had been the only shape he’d wanted since the day they’d met. “Because I’m in bed with a beautiful woman who’s doing a decent job of—”

“ _Decent_?” 

“Of convincing me she’s actually a desire demon,” he continued as he rolled her underneath him. They'd already been at it for hours and he still wanted more of her. For all that they’d been together, he’d never been able to get enough.

When they lay together afterwards, wrapped up in each other, he reveled in that familiar sense of completeness that settled over him. There was something about the way she’d been sculpted to fit perfectly against his body…and perfectly against his heart. Like the Maker himself had formed them to be two parts of a greater whole. He’d thought about her, more than was practical, as the years passed. He’d wondered where she was... What she was doing... 

Who she was with.

When she’d told him to leave, he believed what he felt was one-sided, but the way she’d reacted to him and the way she’d come alive in his arms was a way that she’d never done before, not ever in Kirkwall, and that had him reconsidering everything he knew. 

“Effie…” He nuzzled the side of her head. As she lengthened her body in a stretch, he pulled her against him, desperate to be connected to her by every inch of her that he could. “I have a confession.”

“And you want to tell me?” She propped her head up on one hand and gazed at him, a tiny smile playing at her lips. “I’m a godless heathen. Whatever would the revered mothers say?”

“Nothing nice,” he murmured as he leaned forward to kiss her neck. 

She was smiling as he pulled away from her. He’d seen her smile more since he’d found her in Cullen’s office that afternoon than all of their time together in Kirkwall. Something had changed in her, he knew it had. A small sensation rooted itself in his heart when he’d seen her again. He wanted to give it life. “I haven’t been with anyone since I left Kirkwall.” 

She didn’t move, but her chest rose and fell as she breathed in a slow breath and then blew it back out. “Neither have I.” 

He chuckled, lifting his hand to caress her cheek. “You left Kirkwall, what, last week?” 

“Since _you_ left Kirkwall, Templar,” she retorted as she playfully pushed at his shoulder. 

He’d almost given her a snarky response, but the words caught in his throat. There was no reason for her to lie about that. If she told him she hadn’t been anyone else, she was being honest, opening herself up in a way she’d never done before. She’d been so cold in Kirkwall and now…he captured her hand and lifted it his mouth, giving her a quick kiss on the top before flipping it over to tease her palm with his tongue. “Effie…I dinna what to say.”

She rolled onto her back and glanced over at him. The moonlight streaming through the window perfectly illuminated her body laid out in front of him. “Why use words when your hands are so talented?” 

Rylen shook his head as he gazed at her. How had ever thought he could live without her? “I am at your service, my lady.” 

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and quirked an eyebrow at him. “Such stamina, Templar.”

***

“This is everything you have?” Maxton stared at the stack of paper in front of him, the report on Persephone Hawke he’d requested from his spymaster. 

She gave him a serene smile from across his desk. “Of course.”

It was thicker than he’d expected, not that he quite knew what to expect from the report of a person’s life. He often received reports from scouts and his advisors, but he’d never _read_ them. They knew what to do with them, he didn’t know why he needed to bother.

“Give me the overview.”

“Persephone No-middle-name Hawke. Born in 06 to Malc—”

“Did you say 06?” The spymaster nodded. That would mean she was at least...fifteen years older than he. He wouldn’t have guessed. “Where is she from?”

“Born in Ferelden to Marcher parents.”

“From Kirkwall?” 

“Yes.”

“What were they doing in Ferelden?” 

“Her father was an apostate.”

“Is she too?” At her nod, Maxton continued, “Then how did she become viscountess?”

“Tethras wrote a book about it, _The Tale of the Champion_. I can have a copy sent up if that’s acceptable.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Give me a summary.”

The woman let out a slow breath and lifted her eyes toward the ceiling. “Fled Ferelden as a refugee at the start of the Blight, earned her fortune in the Deep Roads, regained her mother’s noble title, defeated the invading Qunari Arishok in a duel to the death, and then—following the destruction of the chantry of a fellow apostate some say she knew—she defeated both Kirkwall’s first enchanter and knight-commander during the Kirkwall Rebellion. Oh, and rebuilt the city.”

Maxton stared at her, but she simply gave him that same serene look in response. “I would like that book after all.” 

She nodded. “A copy will be in your quarters by dinner, Inquisitor.”

“Very well. Tell me, who are her friends?”

“Less than a handful, all from Kirkwall. Two here with us: Tethras and Rutherford.”

“Rutherford? That surprises me, although… Hmm.” That information put the events of the previous day in a new light. It hadn’t been his imagination, she had been looking to his commander for guidance. “Rutherford was in Kirkwall before?” 

“Yes.”

“What was he doing there?”

“He was a knight-captain until the rebellion. Lady Hawke supported him to be knight-commander and he, in turn, supported her for viscountess.”

“Hmm…” he mused as he thought about that information. The two of them had seemed quite familiar with one another. It could be they were old colleagues, or it could be something more. “Anything else I need to know about her?”

“Ser Carver is her younger brother.”

Maxton frowned. “Carver? I don’t know who that is.”

“One of the templars. He defected at Therinfal Redoubt with Ser Barris and the others.”

“Ah.” Maxton knew Barris, but only because he’d recently promoted him to Knight-Commander. The man’s support at Therinfal Redoubt had been invaluable. The encounter with the envy demon had been one Maxton was loath to repeat and without Barris, it could have ended differently. Would have. He flipped open the report in front of him. “Anyone else?”

“The rest of her family is deceased.”

“Lover?”

His spymaster gave him that same deadpan look she always did. The one he had no idea how to read. “It is widely known that Lady Hawke has had lovers.”

“Any current?” 

The woman shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“Any former lover I should know about? Anyone here?”

She shrugged and nodded at the document on the desk in front of him. “Page twelve. That’s everyone she’s rumored to have been with.”

Maxton flipped open to the directed page. The page was filled with names. He flipped to the next page. “There are two pages of names here.”

“Prince Vael did intend to discredit her. I’m certain you’ve heard what he called her.”

Maxton’s nostrils flared as he stared down at the list. With the names written out like that, he could see how the man had used the Whore of Kirkwall for her. He scanned the names several times before he looked back up. “Rutherford isn’t on this list. Why not?”

“You will have to ask him that.”

He scanned one page of the list again. “Do you think this is true? That’s she been with this many people?” When the spymaster didn’t respond, he looked up at her. “Well?”

“What I think is that it’s irrelevant.” 

“I beg your pardon?”

“Do not hold Lady Hawke to a standard that you do not adhere to simply because she is a woman.” Maxton’s eyebrows shot up. “I do not believe you would appreciate someone tracking every one of _your_ conquests. Now that you are Inquisitor and Andraste’s Chosen, a number of people might even claim that which never happened. Yet you would be lauded for it while she has been reviled.”

Maxton held her unblinking stare until he sighed, flipping the report closed. “I see your point, Spymaster, but don’t chastise me again. I am not a child.”

She didn’t move. After several uncomfortable moments under the intensity of her glare, he glanced down at the stack of paper in front of him, a rough drawing of Persephone on the front. “Tell me about the tattoo.”

“What about it?”

“She has an arrow on her chin, I want to know what it means.”

“As I understand, it’s from her time with the Avvar.”

He snapped his head up. “The Avvar?”

“She lived with them for some years as a youth. Page three.”

“Do you know what it means?”

“Protection for a warrior, I understand.”

“But she’s a mage.” His spymaster simply shrugged. “All right. Dismissed.” She was almost to the stairs when he thought of something. “Nightingale, one more thing. Will you send up Rutherford?” She nodded and disappeared down the stairs.

While he waited, he flipped through the report again. When he found a reference to Kirkwall, he dug in, looking at her years in the city. Seven years in which she’d gone from Blight refugee to viscountess of the city-state. He found the notation of her friendship with Rutherford toward the end. There was no further mention after the man joined the Inquisition.

A knock sounded on the door below and the commander entered. When he was at the top of the stairs, Maxton bade him closer until he was standing in front of his desk. Rutherford waited expectantly as Maxton studied him. “You are friends with Viscountess Hawke?” 

“I am.” 

“Is that all you are?”

“Inquisitor?” Rutherford’s brow furrowed at the question.

“It seems odd to me that she came to Skyhold for an old friend. It says here she’s had many lovers and yet _you_ are not listed among them. Why is that?” 

The man uncomfortably cleared his throat. “She’s a mage.” 

“And?” 

“I don’t, ah...with mages.” 

Maxton was surprised to hear that. “Is that so?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” The commander asked with incredulity. 

“I suppose not. I’m merely surprised since you were a templar.” 

Rutherford cleared his throat again in discomfort. Maxton ignored it, continuing his questioning. He tapped the stack on the desk in front of him. “As her friend, is there anything else you can tell me about her that I won’t find in here?” 

“Depends on what’s in the report, but our spymaster is thorough.”

He flipped through the pages as though he were looking for something. He already knew what it said, but was making a show of it. “Why is she here? Is there a lover or someone else that she came for?” 

Rutherford cleared his throat again. “You were at the war council. She’s here because of Kirkwall.”

“Hmm” was all he said, putting the papers back together in order. As he did, he asked, “Would you have someone fetch Ser Carver?” 

“Ser Carver?”

“Yes. I understand he’s her brother.”

“He is,” Rutherford told him as he crossed the room toward the stairs and shouted down at the guard.

After instructions were given, Maxton gestured him back over. “Where did her brother serve?”

“With Ferelden’s army before the Blight and then he joined the Templars in Kirkwall.”

“He was under your command?” 

“Eventually. He reported to another knight-captain at first, until after—” Cullen cleared his throat—“after the explosion. I didn’t keep track of him after he left with some of the others.”

Maxton flipped back through the report again. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but there was something in it he was missing. 

“Inquisitor, if I may?” Rutherford ventured, waiting for Maxton’s approval. Maxton nodded, and his commander continued, “Why are you so interested in her?”

Maxton pressed his lips together. “I can’t explain it. There’s something about her, like she was—she _is_ —the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.” 

“Beautiful?” Cullen’s eyebrows shot up. “Hawke?” 

“Yes, _Hawke_.” Maxton glared at him and then tapped his fingers against the desk. “What is she like?”

“Dangerous,” Rutherford let out a chuckle, before reigning it in. “She’s not afraid to get blood on her hands when necessary.”

“And in her spare time?” 

“Drinking and—” he abruptly cut off.

“And _what_?” Maxton pressed.

Rutherford took a slow breath. “Whoring. She used to joke about it with her friend, Isabela, though I don’t know how much truth there was to that. I think part of it was to annoy Sebast—I mean, Prince Vael.”

That was better than thinking of her being with all the people listed in the report. “Any longer relationships I should know about?” 

The commander stared at him. “No.”

“You hesitated. Why?”

“I’ve known her a decade. That’s a lot to go through.”

Maxton’s jaw tightened at the implication, remembering the list. A knock on the door sounded and it opened and closed below them. A templar appeared at the top of the stairs. He was tall, with tanned skin, quite unlike Persephone. If he hadn’t been told the man was her brother, he never would have known. 

“Ser Carver,” Maxton greeted him.

“Inquisitor.” The man crossed the room toward his desk and bowed, before nodding at Rutherford. “Commander.”

“Knight-Lieutenant,” Rutherford greeted him in return. Ser Carver stood in front of the desk without moving, silently staring at him. A good soldier.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“No, Lord Inquisitor.” 

Maxton tilted his head as he looked at Carver Hawke. “Your sister is at Skyhold.”

“I heard.” 

“Heard? Have you not seen her?” 

“No, ser.”

Maxton leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers as he studied the man in front of him. “Why not?” 

“We haven’t been in contact for many years.”

“Really? Why?”

“Did you call me here to ask for my family history or is there another reason? Ser,” he added.

He studied the templar, but the man’s face gave nothing away. “Tell me about Persephone.” 

The man took a deep breath. “What do you want to know?”

“Who is she? What is she like?”

The man gazed back at him and then shook his head. “She’s good to have on your side, but I’d keep her at a distance.”

“That’s not very brotherly.” The templar made no response as he stared back at Maxton. “Nothing to say? Then I’ll get to the reason I asked you here. Has she had any serious relationships?” 

The man laughed out loud. “Persephone? No. She doesn’t do serious.”

“Has she ever had anything that could be considered serious?”

Hawke’s eyes cut to his commander and then as quickly back to Maxton. “No.”

“Very well. You may go.”

The man bowed and quickly exited. Maxton remained silent until the door slammed at the bottom of the stairs. Once it had, he turned to his commander. “Why did he look at you when I asked that question?”

“Because any man Lady Hawke has spent any amount of time with is rumored to be her lover. You must be aware of that by now.”

“But not you?”

“Never.” 

“Do you swear it?”

“Yes.”

Maxton let out a slow breath. The commander’s consistent insistence there had never been anything between him and Persephone convinced Maxton to believe him. It was…comforting to feel that he could trust whatever the man said about her. “Thank you, Commander. Do you know where I might find her?” 

“Ah…at the tavern?”

“All right. You may go.” 

Rutherford nodded and then turned to leave the room. As he did, Maxton poured over the information in front of him and turned over the information he’d been given over in his head. There was everything from her favorite tavern in Kirkwall, the Hanged Man, to the friend Isabela that Rutherford mentioned. Though aside from the pages of those rumored to have been with her, there was no more in the way of Persephone’s heart. All the better. That meant she was unburdened by a former love. 

Maxton tossed the report to the side and leaned back in his chair, thinking about what he could do to win her over.


	3. I Want You to Know

She dodged the incoming swing and stuck her foot out, sending the young man sprawling as his sword and shield flew from his hands. Effie sighed and reached down to pull him up by the back of his shirt. Rylen had been correct, these recruits were quite green. She’d be surprised if any of them had even seen a mage before, much less come up against one.

“Watch where you throw your weight,” Rylen told the young man as he handed back the sword and shield, turning to the line of recruits watching. “Who’s next then? We’ve time for one more.” 

None of them would make eye contact, choosing either to stare down at their feet or suddenly finding the ice chunks floating in the flowing river next to them much more interesting. Rylen let out an audible sigh before he looked over at her. “Guess it’s my turn to have a go.”

Effie quirked an eyebrow at him. “Think you can handle me, Templar?”

The recruits nervously chuckled, but Effie wasn’t paying attention to them as she evenly held Rylen’s gaze. They’d never sparred before, not really, and certainly not with magic, but the recruits needed to learn how to fight against the rogue mages, so she would have to use it. 

“I bet I’m the only one who can, Lady Hawke.”

Oh, it was _on_. She gestured toward the empty space in front of them. One side of Rylen’s mouth lifted and he took the wooden sword and shield back from the recruit. 

When he stood opposite her in the sparing area, she lifted her staff. “Ready?”

“When you are.” 

She sent a burst of air hurtling toward him, but he deflected it with his shield. Not that it particularly surprised her. He, at least, had some experience with mages since he’d been at a circle.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” he teased as he began to advance on her.

What was he doing? Was he...taunting her? Effie sent a tremor through the earth at him. The unsteadiness of his balance sent a surge of satisfaction through her, but it didn’t last long as he lunged at her. She leapt back, twisting out of the path of his weapon. She’d wanted to get him with her quarterstaff, but he was too quick for her, turning back to face her before she could react.

When he easily deflected the next blast of air she sent his direction, she put some distance between them and studied him. For his size, he was remarkably fast. She hadn’t realized that.

Now he was doing…something. She could feel the lyrium in his blood drawing on the power of the Fade around her. Effie tried to throw up a barrier, but a pillar of light surrounded her before she could get it up and before she knew it she was on her back, her chest burning from the hit.

She was out of practice against templars. Clearly.

She rolled as he lunged at her and the sword connected with the dirt next to her. Air tingled around her as she tugged on the Fade, pulling it toward her to send another, more forceful blast his direction, except that her connection was now completely gone.

When she looked up, he held the wooden sword pointed at her chest, a look of triumph in his eyes. “Do you yield?”

“Never.” She kicked him in the shin and swept her staff around to knock him off his feet, quickly flipping on top of him. She pressed her staff into his chest, just below his neck. “You yield.”

He didn’t fight her. That same look of triumph still lingered in his eyes as he held her gaze. Her initial confusion was replaced by realization as he murmured in a low voice, low enough that the others couldn’t hear, “It appears I’m entirely at your mercy, Effie.” 

Blood coursed through her veins and her chest heaved with each breath, but as they held each other’s gazes, mingled with the adrenaline was something else. Need. She could feel his body pulsing with it beneath her.

The night before hadn’t been near enough after so much time apart.

“Can you take a break?” she gasped as she continued to suck in deep breaths. 

He gave her the slightest nod and ran his hands up her legs to her waist, the tingle of lyrium burning through her armor. “I yield,” he called out before pushing her off him.

“That was rude,” she frowned at him as she rose to her feet and dusted off her clothes.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, before turning to address the recruits, “Most mages won’t use their staff as a weapon like Lady Hawke. She’s just exceptionally...talented in her staff handling.”

Effie’s eyebrows shot up. She lowered her voice as she asked, “You like how I handle a staff do you?”

He simply winked in response.

“Well, recruits, we’ll continue tomorrow,” she said before striding toward Skyhold. Why did the keep have to be so far away from the soldier’s camp? 

Rylen dismissed the recruits before his heavy footsteps sounded behind her. When he caught up, she asked, “When are you free next?”

“Got some time now. Don’t have guard duty till after dinner.” At her furrowed eyebrows, he explained, “We’re short staffed.” 

“You’re not, though I can’t speak for the others.”

He shook his head as he laughed, “What am I to do with you, Effie?” 

“I’m certain I can think of something. You said after dinner, so do I have you to myself for a few hours?”

“You have me for as long as you want me.” 

His words made something inside of her rejoice in happiness. “That might be awhile, Templar. I’m not letting you go so easily this time.” 

“I’m counting on that, _a leannan_.” The endearment rolling off his tongue was as comfortable as it had always been.

It felt as though it took far too long until they reached the keep and climbed the stairs toward the main hall. Before they reached the doors, Cullen stepped out in front of them. “Rylen! Hawke! Glad I caught you,” he said as he reached them, a concerned look on his face. “We need to talk.”

Effie frowned, “Can it wait? We’re in...the middle of something.”

Cullen looked between them and then down at Rylen’s hand resting on Effie’s lower back. “Oh, sorry, but no it can’t. Follow me.” 

Effie bit her lower lip in frustration as Rylen dropped his hand and they followed him inside. The hall was filled with people repairing the room, their tools clanging and shouts ringing across the room. Cullen pulled them to a corner and lowered his voice. “From this”—he gestured between them—“I gather it’s been a happy reunion?”

“It has,” Rylen confirmed.

“At least until you interrupted us,” Effie pouted.

Cullen let out a huff of laughter. “I’m happy for you two, I am, but I just came from Trevelyan and he’s asking questions about you, Hawke.”

“As he should be,” Rylen said.

Cullen frowned. “Not the ones he should be asking. He’s...interested. He even talked to Carver already. I’ve never seen him take an interest in anything and...all I’m saying is be careful.” 

She didn’t understand what Cullen was trying to get at. “Be careful? What do you mean by that?” 

“He doesn’t know about you two.”

“Why does that matter?”

“He means to warn us.” Rylen’s voice was deadpan beside her, all the joy and playfulness from earlier gone. “The boy is a coddled highborn, the youngest. He doesn’t take well to being told no.”

“And why is that our problem?” 

Cullen sighed, “Do you remember when we met, Hawke? How adamant I was about…the world?”

“You mean about mages?”

He flushed. “Yes.”

“I’m glad you came around, Rutherford. I always liked you.”

“And I you, despite our initial difference of…ah, opinion.” Effie snorted at his word choice. “My point is, he’s about that age and seems adamant about you, so be careful.”

Effie stared at him. She’d not been intending to hide her relationship with Rylen, not this time. Not that they’d previously hidden it, but she tended to keep her private affairs just that: private. She didn’t want to do that anymore. “No.”

“Hawke.”

“I can be with whomever I want. Whenever I want.”

Cullen glanced at Rylen and shook his head. “I’ll leave you two to figure it out. Leliana and I both failed to mention your involvement with each other, so whatever you decide will have consequences for more than just you two.”

Effie cocked her head as she looked at him. “Why didn’t you—”

Someone came sliding through the front doors of the hall. “Oh, Commander! Knight-Captain! We have a bit of a situation with some of the templars.”

Cullen started to step forward, but Rylen stopped him. “I’ve got this. Order business, I’m sure.”

“Not your concern anymore, Rylen.” 

“More than yours,” he shrugged before turning to Effie. “I’ll see you tonight?” 

She lifted her chin. “I’ll never forgive you if not.”

“You would,” he smiled as he headed toward the door. “Until later then.”

After Rylen and the scout departed, Effie felt Cullen staring at her. “What?”

“Don’t tell Trevelyan. He’s young and temperamental enough that he’d send Rylen to some far reach of Thedas to get him out of the way.”

“No.” Send him away? Effie couldn’t believe that they would let him do that.

“I wish it wasn’t true.” Cullen ran his hand through his hair with a sigh. “I don’t know exactly what happened between you two in Kirkwall, but I beg of you, don’t run my knight-captain off again.”

“Run him off?”

“If you’re not serious, then—”

“I am serious,” she interrupted him. They stared at each other until Effie asked, “Is that why you didn’t tell me he was here?”

“It didn’t matter. Or, at least, I wasn’t aware it did. He’s the best I have, Hawke, and he’s a good man.” 

“You think I don’t know that?” 

Cullen headed for the door. “Then consider that before you do anything that could hurt him.”

***

Effie sat at the bar staring into her glass of wine as she waited. The tavern wasn’t much to look at yet, but it was comfortable and she could easily spend most of her evenings here, even if it wasn't quite the same as the Hanged Man.

A door opened and a hush fell over the room. That told her enough of who’d just entered. It would be none other than the Lord Inquisitor himself. Cabot tracked the man as he made his way to the opposite end of the bar. Several women giggled as his youthful voice called, “Cabot! A bottle of your best Antivan sparkling!”

The bartender grimaced in Effie’s general direction before he headed toward the back room. The door behind her opened again and another hush fell over the room, but this one was different. It was a silence of deference rather than the silence of fear. 

When Effie turned, Cullen was making his way toward her. “Sorry,” he told her as he slid onto the barstool next to her, “That meeting took longer than expected.” Effie lifted the glass of wine to her lips as he looked down the bar. “Ah, there he is.” 

“Your inquisitor?” 

“Yes. He left the war council early. No explanation.” Cullen sighed, “I like for him to take a more active role. Instead, he’s in here, doing that.” 

She looked over her shoulder to follow Cullen’s gaze. The young man had gotten his bottle of sparkling wine and had his arm around two women. One of them giggled as he whispered something in her ear. 

Effie rolled her eyes, returning her attention to Cullen. “Is he always like that?” 

He rubbed circles on the sides of his head. “Yes.”

“How do you manage it?” 

“As well as we are able.”

Cabot appeared in front of them. “Anything to drink, Commander?” 

“Neat whiskey,” Cullen told him. Cabot had the drink on the counter in front of him within moments. 

She lifted her glass toward him in a toast. “To us.”

“To us.” After they’d each taken a sip, Cullen continued, “I’m glad you suggested this. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“Not another lecture, I hope.”

“Hawke.”

“It was a joke. Please, go on.” 

Cullen stared down into his whiskey before he finally met her eyes. “I’ve stopped using lyrium and…it’s not been easy. I could use some help. Cassandra is keeping an eye on it, but since you’re here now…” 

“You quit lyrium? Will the Templars let you do that?” 

He let out a soft laugh, “I left the Order, Hawke. When I left Kirkwall.”

“I…didn’t know you could do that.”

“It’s not unprecedented.”

She swirled the wine around in her glass before she set it down. “Were you that eager to get away from Kirkwall?” 

“Get away? No, that’s not it at all. It’s…after everything that happened...” he trailed off with a loud sigh.

She gave him a weak smile. “Is that also why you’re quitting lyrium?”

“I don’t want to be beholden to them any longer and…the effects of long-term lyrium use are not pleasant.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Losing my memories or not being able to distinguish dreams from reality. It gets worse the longer you’re on it.” 

Effie’s eyes darted back toward Cullen as she froze. “Did you say…lose your memories?”

“I did,” he affirmed with a nod.

The words hit her like a stone fist. Forget everything? Panic began to creep up inside her. Cullen was—what?—thirty at most and couldn’t have been a templar that long. If he was worried about the long-term effects it would have on him, then Rylen… She swallowed. Even with the noise of the tavern around her, the sound was loud in her ears. “Does that happen to all templars?” 

“It does.” 

“How long before it starts?” she asked, swallowing again to try and stop the sense of dread that was pressing at her chest.

“Hard to tell. But like I said, the longer I’m on it, the more likely it is to happen. It’ll probably happen anyway.”

Effie picked her glass of wine back up, trying to calm the nerves inside of her. “Does Rylen know?” 

“All templars know, Hawke,” he gently told her. “They didn’t tell us before they gave us the lyrium, but we quickly learned.”

“That doesn’t surprise me from what I’ve heard.” Effie forced a stiff smile, trying to maintain a sense of nonchalance. “Was that all you wanted to talk about? Quitting lyrium?”

“Well, yes, but I would like your help.” 

“Me? What could I possibly do?” she asked, surprised by the request.

Cullen chuckled. “You tell me the truth, for one. You’re about the only person who does.” 

“I don’t see the point in coddling you, Rutherford.” 

“You never did, Hawke,” he smiled.

Effie opened her mouth to ask what he needed from her to stay off lyrium when someone draped their arm over her shoulder. She stiffened and tugged on the Fade in case she needed to blast the person away, but Cullen subtly shook his head.

“Hi.”

She turned her head to find the inquisitor—the very drunk inquisitor. Effie gave him a tight smile as she set her glass down and removed his arm. “Inquisitor.” 

“Quisitor, schmisitor,” he slurred, slumping down onto the empty stool on the other side of her. “You”—he tapped her nose with one finger before Effie could stop him—“may call me Maxton.”

“Don’t touch me. And I’d rather not.”

“Persephone,” he continued as though he hadn’t heard her. He probably hadn’t. “May I call you Persephone?”

“I prefer Haw—” she started, but he tapped her nose again. 

“Perseeeeeephone,” he mumbled as he moved closer. Effie slid to the far edge of her stool, toward Cullen. “Your name is beautiful.”

She nudged Cullen with her elbow. He let out a surprised cough and said, “Inquisitor…”

Maxton ignored him. Instead, he murmured from next to her, “Like you.” 

Effie snapped her head around to stare at him. “Me?”

“You are so beautiful,” he repeated, more clearly this time. All the youthful playfulness had disappeared, replaced by far too serious a look for his inebriated state.

“And you, Lord Inquisitor, are drunker than I thought if you believe that,” she told him. He stared at her mouth with an intensity that unnerved her. Gods, he couldn’t be more than twenty. Still practically a child. 

Cullen could deal with this. She was getting out of here. She slid off the stool and looked back at the young man. “Well, thank you, but I must be going.” 

Effie shifted her gaze to Cullen and merely lifted her eyebrows. He nodded his understanding and stood. “Let’s go, Inquisitor.”

Disappointment flooded the inquisitor’s features before it was quickly replaced by the playfulness from earlier. He winked before sauntering away and calling over his shoulder, “Too bad. We could have had fun.” 

Effie laid a hand on Cullen’s shoulder as he sighed in defeat and told him, “Good luck.”

***

As soon as she left the tavern she could breathe again. After Cullen’s warning, she’d been intending to steer clear of the young man as much as possible, but it appeared he had other plans.

She climbed the stairs to the ramparts, hoping to find Rylen quickly. He’d still be on watch, and the wind whispered to look up, which she meant he’d up there.

At the top of the stairs, she looked up at the stars and listened. She’d forgotten how many stars could be seen far from any city, just as she’d forgotten how loud the gods could be. After so much time in Kirkwall, the onslaught of omens almost overwhelmed her. But they’d been pointing her true, and tonight was no exception. It took almost no time at all to find Rylen standing near Cullen's office, talking to another soldier.

“Eff—er, Lady Hawke. Good evening.”

“My lady.” The soldier Rylen was speaking to nodded at her in greeting.

“Commander Cullen is at the tavern, if you're looking for him,” Rylen told her. 

She could feel his eyes burning into her, even in the dark. Every time he was nearby, even after all the time apart, the need for him grew ever stronger. She’d forgotten that…yearning in the years since he’d left.

“I know, I just left him. We discussed something regarding the templars I hoped to get your opinion on, Knight-Captain.”

“Certainly. Whatever I can do help.” Rylen indicated she should join them.

The other soldier bade them both a good evening and headed the opposite direction. Effie couldn’t keep the smile from her face as they walked through Cullen’s office and back out onto the ramparts. This side, away from the tavern, was quieter.

She’d explored the ramparts that morning, after Rylen had woken her early to show her a platform where she could look out over the keep. At first, she’d been surprised he’d remembered her morning ritual of watching the city of Kirkwall wake from its slumber, but there were many things he’d remembered about her, as she had him. Why had she ever thought he would be better off without her? She had wasted so much time.

“I have a few hours more,” he told her in a lowered voice.

“I know, but I had to get out of there. Am I allowed to keep you company?”

“You can. What do you mean you _had to_?” 

“Your inquisitor is quite drunk.”

Rylen stopped walking beside her and she paused in her own steps as he asked, “What did he do?”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.” She laid her hand on his arm and looked up into his face, shadowed in the light of the moon.

“That doesn’t make it right. What did he do?”

She thought about the way the inquisitor’s brown eyes had stared so earnestly into her own. The way he’d draped his arm around her shoulders and told her she was beautiful. She sighed, “As Cullen said, he’s interested.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“Nothing. Cullen asked me not to.” Rylen walked to the wall and looked out toward the mountains. Effie followed, sliding between him and the wall as she wrapped her arms around his waist. Her chin pressed into the cold metal of his chestplate as she looked up at him. “He’s afraid he’ll send you away from Skyhold if he finds out. But I don’t want to hide us. Not this time.” 

“I’m glad to hear it.” Rylen lifted his hand to her face and ran a finger over her lips and chin. “But Cullen’s right. He’s brash, we don’t know what he’ll do if he finds out.”

Effie sighed as the disappointment bit at her. “Maybe he’ll lose interest.”

Rylen brushed her hair away from her face and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Maybe, but that’s a worry for another day. You wanted to talk?”

“Cullen told me he quit lyrium.” 

“Aye, he did.”

“I’m worried for him. That can’t be easy.”

“Lyrium’s how they get you. Quitting may not be an instant death, but it makes you wish you were.”

There was something about the way he'd said it... “How do you know that?” she asked, but he shook his head, looking back out at the mountains. “Rylen…”

“What?” He glanced back down at her, a harsh expression on his face that took her aback.

“How do you know that?”

“I don't want to talk about it.” He disengaged himself from her arms and took long strides away from her. 

“Rylen, wait.” She hurried after him. “He told me some of the long-term effects. He said you’ll lose your mind.” 

When he whipped around to face her, Effie caught herself before she went barreling into him. “It's enough that I have it now.”

“But—”

“Effie.” The sharp tone of his voice was enough to silence her. “I was in Starkhaven when the Circle burned. It destroyed our entire supply. One week and I barely remembered my own name. I have never known a pain like it.” 

He stared down at her, his breath shallow. She tentatively reached for him, resting a hand on his arm. When he didn’t stop her, she stepped closer and slid her arms back around him, though he remained stiff.

“I didn't know,” she quietly told him.

“No reason you would. We never talked.” 

Though warranted, the criticism stung. Maybe it hadn’t been intended as such, but he was right. They never talked in Kirkwall. About anything. Words were far from what they’d been best at. “I never asked, did I?”

A shake of his head was his only response to her question. Effie sighed and rested her cheek against his metal chestplate. By some gift, they’d gotten this second chance and she would take whatever time she had with him, even if it was angry silence.

After some time, he sighed and wrapped his arms around her—one at her waist and one in her hair. She lifted her chin. Moonlight once again cast half his face in shadow, but the look he gave her in return was softer than before. 

Her lips parted to speak, but she hesitated. She wanted to know, but she didn’t want to upset him further. Finally, the desire to know more won out. “Would you tell me about it?” 

He lifted his hand to gently caress her cheek. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yes.” She turned her face to kiss his palm. “I want to know everything about you, Rylen.” 

Rylen’s grip tightened around her for a brief second, before he released her. He ran a hand down her arm to intertwine their fingers together, before he turned to continue along the ramparts. He began his story as they strolled together with none but the stars above as witness.


	4. Promises

He had more than a handful of regrets from the moment he woke up and realized there was a woman in his bed with him and that she was _not_ the woman he wanted. She was dark-haired at least and, if he squinted, which he was certain he’d done quite a bit the previous night, she could be mistaken for her. Or perhaps if he wasn’t looking at her face. Or any part of her body, really, because aside from the color of her hair, there was nothing about the woman that resembled Persephone Hawke.

That was the moment Maxton resolved to stop drinking so heavily. He remembered seeing Persephone at the tavern the night before…but not what happened next. That was not the way he was going to win her over.

He had his steward pack the random woman up and send her out and now he was sitting at his desk, trying to figure out what in the Maker’s name he should do. 

Dinner. She’d agreed to have dinner with him. Maxton called his steward back and asked the man to locate the ambassador before he began to dress for the day. 

He was half-dressed when Josephine entered the room. “Oh! Lord Trevelyan, I apologize for the intrusion.”

Maxton held up the two offending items of clothing in hand. “The cream or the white?” 

“My lord?” She dragged her eyes to his face, even if it seemed somewhat reluctant. 

“The cream cravat or the white cravat?” 

“What other colors are you wearing?” 

“I don’t know!” He threw up his hands, tossing the cravats in the air. “I need help!” 

Josephine delicately cleared her throat and began scribbling on her ever-present paper as she asked, “Help for what?” 

“Dinner with Persephone.” 

A silence descended as even her quill stopped moving. “Lady Hawke?” 

“Yes. I would like to invite her for dinner.” 

“But didn’t she decline?” 

“She said another time.” 

His ambassador’s eyes lifted to meet his. “It’s only been two days.” 

Maxton stared at her. She was trying not to look at his naked chest, so he puffed it up a little just to amuse himself. When her eyes flickered down, he preened. “I would like to have dinner with Persephone. Help me figure it out.”

She plastered a smile onto her face. “Well then! Let’s get started.” 

It was several hours later when he was finally fully dressed and waiting with two filled wine glasses for her to arrive. He set them down on his desk at the last minute, concerned that greeting her with them in hand made him seem too eager. He’d considered the fact that she might not show up, despite having accepted his invitation. She had agreed to come and she was due any moment. He knew she would. She was a woman of her word.

A sharp knock sounded on the door. He turned back toward the desk and grabbed the mostly bottle of wine, pretending to pour. When he heard her at the top of the stairs, he set it down.

“Ah, Lady Hawke. Thank you for joining me.” He scooped up the two glasses of wine—a rare bottle of a Tevinter blend Dorian had helped him pick out—and approached her. She was radiant in a long black gown. Truly the most stunning woman he’d ever known. 

He held one of the glasses out toward her and she took it without breaking eye contact. “Thank you for the invitation, Inquisitor.” 

“Please, call me Maxton.” 

“I prefer Inquisitor.”

He inclined his head and gestured her out toward the balcony. The ambassador had arranged a lovely spread on the impromptu dining table. She walked past the table toward the balcony, to look out across Skyhold. “This view is wonderful.” 

Pride swelled within him that there was something, anything, worth her remarking on. “It’s a favorite of mine.” 

“Is it?” She turned her head toward him, a questioning look in her eyes.

“Very much.” 

He could have sworn the look in her eyes was appreciation. He felt a thrill shoot through him at the knowledge that she appreciated him. He would give her a thousand balconies and more if it meant she would be his. 

“Shall I make a toast?” he asked, lifting his wine glass in her direction. She lifted hers in response. “To us.”

“To us.” She gave him a small smile and clinked her glass against his. He felt like there was something missing… something more from her. But he took what he could get.

“Shall we eat?” 

“That would be lovely.” 

They sat, making small talk through most of the meal’s different courses. Beyond the red Dorian had helped him with, he had a full tasting menu of foods and wines from across Thedas. Persephone may be older and more experienced, but Maxton had a few tricks up his sleeve he could call upon to impress her.

She studied him over another glass of wine. He liked the rosy tint to her cheeks and the way she worked her lower lip, the lines of her tattoo rippling as she did so.

“Tell me about your scar,” she said at last, lifting the glass of wine to her lips. 

Maxton stiffened. The truth was that he didn’t quite remember how he’d gotten it in the aftermath of Haven. He’d made up a story enough times, but he couldn’t remember it right now with her dark eyes focused on him. 

“To be honest, I don’t entirely remember. Something about a dragon,” he told her, looking into his wine glass as he swirled it. 

“A dragon?”

“When Corypheus attacked Haven.” 

She sat up straight in her chair. “What?” 

“You didn’t know? He has an archdemon.”

“But what happened at Haven?” 

“Oh…that. We were attacked. I buried the village with an avalanche.”

“And you survived?” 

He gave her another smile. “So that I could meet you.” 

She gazed at him. She had the most kissable lips he’d ever seen, but as much as he wanted to rise from his seat and find out how true that was, he resisted. Persephone needed to be courted. She was a lady and she deserved to be treated like one. 

“And the others?” 

“There was a path, they made it out before that.” 

“You would have sacrificed yourself for them?” 

He shrugged. “There wasn’t another option.” 

Another look that hovered on respect appeared on her face. Again, it filled him with pride that she respected what he’d done. He had done great things and he knew he could do more, especially with a woman like her by his side. 

“May I ask you a question?” Her eyebrows lifted a fraction, but she nodded. “If you’d been the Inquisitor like they wanted, what would you be doing right now?” 

“That is quite the question. More specifically?” 

“I don’t know.”

She studied him, her head tilting to take him in. “You have advisors. Do you listen to them?”

“I trust them.” 

“That wasn’t my question. Do you listen to them?” 

The memories of the handful of times he’d bothered to listen to his advisors played through his head. No, he didn’t listen to them. “Not really.” 

A smile ghosted the edges of her lips. “Perhaps you should. Commander Rutherford is one of the best strategists this side of the Frostbacks; your Nightingale served with the Hero of Ferelden himself; and your ambassador…well, the others trust her, so I would.” 

“What are you telling me to do?” 

“Go to the meetings. Listen to what they have to say. People will remember what you didn’t do more than what you did.” She picked up her glass again and almost as an afterthought added, “Trust me.” 

He lifted his eyes to hers. He’d asked for the advice, yes, but she’d given him far more than he’d asked for. And she was right. He should take more responsibility, more of an active role for what he was doing here.

They continued to chat as a servant cleared away the plates in front of them and the last course was served. Dessert. He’d chosen something simple, that could be eaten or could be discarded without much care. Glasses of sparkling wine were set in front of them before the servant made himself scarce.

Maxton picked up the flute in front of him. “To us.” 

“We’ve already toasted to us.” 

“Then what do you propose?” 

She lifted her glass. “To the men and women who are the backbone of people like us. Those who put in the work and reap none of the benefit.” 

Maxton couldn’t help but wonder if it was a direct critique of how he’d run the Inquisition until now. If it was, he would have to do better, if nothing else than to see the respect in her eyes.

Respect, and maybe something more.

He watched her as they both took a slow sip of their sparkling wine. Only when she’d set hers back down on the table did he ask, “Do you have a lover?”

Her eyebrows lifted a fraction. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I should like to court you and I see no reason to not ask directly.”

The deliberate pace she took as she lifted her glass back to her lips, the effervescent liquid dancing across her lower lip as she did, was maddening.

“Sound logic,” she finally said before she rubbed her lips together. Her lips were such a lovely shape. One day he would know what they tasted like. 

“Now you didn’t answer my question,” he said, “Do you?”

She studied him, twirling her wine flute in between her fingers. He wanted to insist that he would be the man for her, but he waited. Still and patient. He would prove that he wasn’t the fool he may have shown himself to be so far, at least when it came to her.

She rubbed her lips together and then smiled. “None to mention.”

A smile spread across his face at her words. There wasn’t anyone else who could be standing in his way, she’d said so herself. As he gazed at her, he marvelled at her beauty. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and he couldn’t wait until she was more than simply the beautiful woman sitting across the table from him. 

“That doesn’t mean I welcome the attention,” she added. 

The fantasy he’d been entertaining came crashing back down. “What?” 

“Inquisitor, I am leaving as soon as I know Kirkwall is getting the help you promised. Besides, I’m twice your age” 

“That does not deter me.” 

“Then perhaps it is simply me, but that doesn’t change anything.” She took in a deep breath as she set down her half full glass. “Well, thank you for the dinner.” 

“I won’t give up.” 

“You should,” she told him as she pushed herself up to stand.

“I intend to have your heart, Persephone.” 

“Don’t bother.” She leaned over the table toward him. “I’ve no heart to have.” With that, she started toward the Orlesian doors that led back to his bedroom.

“You’re wrong,” he called after her, “and I’ll do anything to have it.”

***

Since the inquisitor had left the week before, a levity had come to Skyhold that even the heavy spring rains of the mountains couldn’t dampen. Effie pulled her cloak over her head and dashed for the tavern from the front door of the keep. A taller man reached it at the same time and held the door open for her, following her inside.

As Effie pushed her hood back, she turned toward the man. “Thank you for…” The words died on her lips. It was Carver. The look on his face as he stared back at her was a mix of horror and disbelief, and she was certain her face was similar. “Brother.” 

“Hawke.”

Effie flared her nostrils at his clipped tone. Since their falling out, she knew he’d refused to acknowledge their relationship, but for their shared surname spat in the same disgusted tone that Sebastian Vael had perfected all those years ago irked her.

“I’m surprised to find you here,” she remarked as she removed her cloak and shook it out. 

Carver did something similar with his. “Here in the tavern or here with the Inquisition?”

“Both.”

Effie hung her cloak on the rack near the door. She’d been about to walk away without so much as a goodbye, when a woman’s soft voice interrupted her. “Lady Hawke?”

When she turned around, there was a petite woman standing next to her brother, a hand laid calmingly on his arm. Effie gave her a tight smile. “I am. Who’s asking?”

“It’s so good to finally meet you. I’m Melinda, Melinda Hawke.”

“Hawke?” Her eyebrows shot up as her eyes darted to Carver’s face. His jaw was tight and he was pointedly not looking at Effie, but there was a tenderness in his eyes as he gazed down at the woman.

By the breath of Hakkon, Carver was _married_?

Effie studied the woman. She was pretty, with dark hair, brown eyes, and a kindness about her that reminded Effie of Bethany. Or even Leandra, Effie disgruntledly admitted to herself. “A…pleasure to meet you, Melinda. How long have you been married?” 

“Two years,” Carver interjected. 

Kirkwall, then. It surprised her she’d not learned about it sooner.

Melinda smiled up at him and he wrapped an arm protectively around her waist. The woman looked back at Effie, “I’d been wanting to send you a letter, but no one knew where you were and…well, it’s so nice that you’re actually here at Skyhold.”

“Why?” The word slipped out before Effie could rein it in. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the woman because her words seemed genuine, but it surprised her given that the woman was married to her brother. Her brother who was certain to be spewing venom about her here as he’d done in Kirkwall.

And not to just to her. He’d been so awful to Rylen in those days, twisted as he’d been by the other templars, though it’d never bothered Rylen as much as her. At least he never showed it if it did. She only wished she’d known then what she knew now.

Melinda’s eyes darted up toward Carver. “I’ve no family of my own and…well, I would like for Bethy to know the family she does have. It’s important.”

At her sister’s name, Effie’s breath caught in her chest. “Bethy?”

“Our daughter,” Carver said, looking her in the eye for the first time. “Mel’s right. She should know her aunt.”

“I…” Effie didn’t know how to respond to _that_. Not only was Carver married, but he had a daughter of his own. Had the world changed so much in such a short time? Behind Carver and Melinda, Effie caught sight of Cullen moving toward the bar. She forced a smile to her face, “Of course. Sometime soon perhaps?”

A warm smile broke out across Melinda’s face. “That would be wonderful, thank you, Lady Hawke.”

“Goodnight.” Effie slipped around them, still not sure how to reconcile the Carver who wanted her back in his life—or at least his daughter’s life—with the brother she’d spent the past years at odds with. 

“Rutherford!” she called as she approached the bar. Cullen already had two drinks in front of him as he spoke with Cabot. 

“Hawke!” He gestured her over. “Would you take these upstairs for me? He’s already up there.”

The thought of Rylen was enough for the warmth inside of her to come out as a smile, no matter how small it might be.

With the inquisitor away, it was as though all of Skyhold breathed a collective sigh of relief, allowing the tension of being around the young man to finally dissipate. They might still have to be cautious when in public together, but at least she didn’t have to worry about constantly looking over her shoulder. Or worse, him surprising her again. Now that he’d made his intent clear, she had little hope that he’d soon lose interest. 

Cullen’s eyebrows lifted and he shook his head. “Who are you and what have you done with my friend Hawke?”

She shrugged at him as she grabbed the two tankards and made her way upstairs. He was easy to find, tucked away in a back corner where few people would be looking. She set the drink down in front of him and slid into a chair next to him. “Fancy seeing you here, Knight-Captain.”

“Lady Hawke.” He gave her hand a gentle caress with his thumb before he picked up her tankard and set it in front of an empty seat next to a deck of cards. “That’s Cullen’s.” He shifted the other tankard to another empty seat and added, “And that’s Cassandra’s.”

“Cassandra?” Effie’s eyebrows furrowed as she tried to remember who Cassandra was. She’d gotten to know some of the other templars and recruits during her time at Skyhold, and the name did seem familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“Seeker Pentaghast.”

“Oh.” The woman who’d nearly torn Thedas apart looking for her. She was joining them for drinks? 

“You’ll like her, Effie.”

Effie merely shot him a look as she’d noticed Cullen at the top of the stairs with the woman in question following. As the other woman’s eyes landed on her, she looked as surprised as Effie felt.

“There.” Cullen placed a glass of wine in front of Effie and a whiskey in front of Rylen. “Sorry that took so long.” The seeker—Cassandra—hovered awkwardly next to the table. Cullen indicated she should join them. “Have a seat. Hawke, have you met Seeker Pentaghast?”

Effie watched sit down before she said, “I’ve not yet had the pleasure, though not for lack of trying on her part.” Effie felt a nudge against her leg. Rylen wasn’t looking at her, but she understood what he was trying to tell her. Well, she would play nice for him. “A pleasure to finally meet you, Seeker.”

“And you, Viscountess. Rylen.” Cassandra nodded in their direction.

“Cassandra,” Rylen greeted her.

Effie said, “You may call me Hawke.”

“Feels like old times, doesn’t it?” Cullen said as he picked up his tankard and held it up for a toast.

“Old times?” Cassandra asked.

“Kirkwall,” Effie explained as she lifted her glass as well and they all toasted one another. “I ran into these two at the tavern on more than one occasion.”

“No. It was us that frequently ran into you,” Rylen teased.

Effie turned in her seat. The soft smile on his face as he gazed back at her had her giving him a gentle nudge with her elbow, just to be close to him. “Watch it, Templar.”

“As I said,” Cullen chuckled. “Like old times.” 

The seeker had been watching their interactions with a curious look on her face, so Effie quickly pulled her arm back and lifted her glass to her lips for a drink. 

“You are not what I expected,” she said. 

Effie looked over at her. “And what did you expect?”

She shrugged, “Viscountess Hawke has a certain reputation and you’re…different.” 

“Aye. Lady Hawke had changed in many ways,” Rylen agreed as he lifted his drink and clinked it against Effie’s glass. “All of them for the better.”

“All of them?” Effie asked with mock indignation.

“Aye, _a leannan_ ,” he murmured, too low for the others to hear. There was a fluttering inside her chest at her breath caught at the look in his eyes when his gaze met hers. “Everything about you is better than my dreams.” 

The seeker’s voice interrupted their private moment. “Then you knew each other well?”

Rylen held Effie’s gaze for another moment, before he dragged his eyes away to look at Cassandra. “Aye, we did.” 

“It was hard not to,” Cullen added, “Hawke and I worked closely together.”

Effie teasingly lifted her eyebrows at Cullen. “The only person I saw more than you was Bran.”

“And he was rather displeased with that arrangement,” Cullen laughed. 

“And you, Rylen? How long were you in Kirkwall?” 

“Eight months, but I’d have been glad to stay longer.”

“Why didn’t you?” 

Rylen froze with his drink just shy of his mouth. Effie didn’t look at him, just as Cullen didn’t look at her. “I had to go back to Starkhaven,” he finally said before taking a slow sip and returning his glass to the table in front of him.

“I see. You kept in contact?” 

“Aye,” Rylen told her. Effie tentatively reached out a hand, resting it on his thigh. He covered his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers, and gave her a gentle squeeze. 

Cullen continued, “As soon as you offered me the position here, Rylen was my first thought to have join. Best knight-captain I could’ve asked for.”

“Thank you, ser.” Rylen acknowledged the compliment with a nod and a smile. 

“Glad you came around.” Cullen smiled in response, but it quickly fell away as the group lapsed into silence.

“Well.” Effie released Rylen’s hand and reached for the deck of playing cards from the middle of the table. “Anyone up for a game?”


	5. No Other Way

> _~~Today was a long day, but we managed to  
>  How are you? Has your health been~~  
>  _

With a frustrated groan, Maxton tossed the parchment at the fire, watching the flames consume it, the edges of the paper furling in the heat as the words disappeared into the night sky. He’d already wasted several good pieces on his indecisiveness alone. The spymaster would be livid once she learned how many he’d wasted on this futile exercise.

“Need some help over there, Sunny?” Varric drawled from the other side of the fire where he was cleaning Bianca.

“I can’t—” Maxton let out a frustrated huff as he picked up a fresh piece of parchment. “I’m not good with words.”

“Well, lucky you got me here!” Varric sauntered around the fire as Maxton balanced the parchment on his lap, dipping his quill in ink and blotted it. Varric sat down and peered at the blank page. “Let’s start with what you’re wanting to say.”

Maxton let out a long sigh and ran his free hand through his hair. “I want you. I want you so much it hurts and I can’t think about anything else except—”

Varric lifted his hands up in front of him. “Slow down there, partner. You’re really not my type.”

“You know who I mean,” Maxton grumbled.

A teasing grin appeared on Varric’s face. “Yeah, I do. Alright, so you’ve got a new page. Great.” Varric tapped the paper. “First, don’t just use her name. Call her something poetic. Like… what reminds you of her?”

Maxton glanced up at the stars overhead. “A moonless night so dark I’ll never—”

“Err, that’s…not gonna work. We’ll revisit it. Moving on. Why are you writing?”

“Because…I don’t know.”

“Come on, Sunny, you’ve been working on this all night. There’s gotta be _something_.”

“I…need to know, I mean, I want to tell her how much she means to me.”

“We can work with that. How long has it been since you saw her?”

“Six days.”

Varric’s eyebrows lifted. “Alright, write this down.” He tapped the blank paper again and Maxton lifted the quill. “The last week without hearing of you, and because of the great affection that I hold for you, has induced me to send—”

“No,” Maxton interrupted. “I’m not writing that.”

“Fair enough, but if you keep wasting all that paper, Nightingale is gonna have your head.” Varric rose, resting a hand on Maxton’s shoulder before turning to leave. “Good luck.”

Even though Varric hadn’t given him something specific to say, he’d given him an idea.

He began to write.

> _As I sit beneath this night sky, my every thought turns to you. These past days without word have been near impossible to be so distant. I am not yet certain if I shall ever find a place in your heart as you have in mine, but I beseech you most fervently to let me know your whole mind as to any possible love between us two, as my heart is dedicated to you alone._
> 
> _I wish the time apart to be short, but fear it will be long without you by my side._
> 
> _Written by the hand of him who is willingly yours, M._

He waited for the ink to dry as he reread the words. It was…awkward. But he would work on writing something more poetic for next time.

“Inquisitor?” He turned, seeing a scout with a raven on her arm. “Raven’s about to go out. Anything for Skyhold?”

“Yes, a moment,” he told her as he hurriedly folded the paper into a small square. He dipped his quill in ink once more and carefully penned her name on the front.

_Persephone_.

***

“Ha!” Effie slammed a card down on the desk in front of her, making both Rylen and Cullen jump in surprise.

Cullen gave her one of his crooked grins as he slid a card on top of hers. “King trumps knight, Hawke.”

“Blast you, Rutherford,” she grumbled, slumping down in her seat.

“I’d rather you not,” he chuckled.

“I have you one better,” Rylen said as he laid a queen on the pile.

“Not again!” she groaned, “How are you so good at this game?”

“Starkhaven was quiet, as far as Circles go.”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “Starkhaven hasn’t had a Circle in a decade.”

“Like I said, it was quiet,” Rylen laughed as he gathered up the cards, though he quickly fell silent.

Effie knew that the Starkhaven Circle hadn’t always been quiet. Even when she was still in Ferelden with the advancing Blight, she’d heard the stories of when the tower burned. He'd been there, and she didn’t want to bring back those memories tonight. Not when things were so…normal.

“I’ll take those.” She took the cards from Rylen and started to shuffle. “Another round? I don’t like losing.”

“I’ll make it up to you later,” he promised, leaning forward to kiss her shoulder.

Cullen groaned, “Could you not?”

Effie rolled her eyes and Rylen laughed again, that deep and rumbling laugh she'd heard from him more and more over the preceding weeks. She couldn’t name the feeling it gave her inside when she heard it, but it was comfortable, and warm, and she could get used to feeling it.

A knock sounded on the door. Her eyes snapped to Rylen’s, his already on her as unspoken words passed between them. She dove behind the door as Cullen stood and rounded his desk.

“Enter!” Cullen called. The door opened and Cullen intercepted the person on the other side before they could step through. “What is it?”

“These arrived just now, ser, from the Fallow Mire.” There was the sound of paper rustling, followed by a long pause. Effie watched Rylen as he watched Cullen and the scout.

“What’s that one?” Cullen asked.

“This? For Lady Hawke. I’ve not been able to locate her. Do you know where she might be?”

“Give it to me, I’ll handle it. Thank you, Scout.” The door slammed shut and Cullen held the letter out toward her.

She snatched it and inspected the outside as she took several steps back into the room. Her given name written across the front in a neat hand surprised her. “Huh.”

“Who’s it from?” Rylen asked as he rose to his feet and moved toward her.

She held it up for him to see. “Your inquisitor.”

“How do you know that?”

“Who else calls me Persephone?” she mused as she unfolded the missive. It didn’t take her long to scan it, but as she did her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Well. It seems our resident author has decided to lend him a hand.”

“What?” Cullen’s shocked voice matched how she felt at Varric helping the young man attempt to woo her. It felt like a betrayal, even if that was slightly unfair to Varric. He’d never known about Rylen in Kirkwall and she wasn’t going to tell him now. _Especially_ now.

Rylen reached for the letter and she let him take it. “Either Varric is helping him or your inquisitor has a hidden talent for writing love letters.”

“A talent?” Rylen frowned at her and held up the offending letter between them. “This?”

“You’ve got to admit, it’s not bad. Or maybe his charm is finally working on me,” she teased.

He advanced on her, pulling her into his arms. The inquisitor’s letter floated down to the ground, forgotten. “You want love letters, do you?”

“What? Are you going to write them?” She laughed at the idea, it was ridiculous, wasn’t it? Rylen? Her practical-to-a-fault soldier writing her love letters? “I’d like to see you try, Templar.”

“ _A leannan_ ,” he murmured as he lifted a hand to caress her cheek, “the stars spread across the night sky are no match for the stars in your eyes, bright against your hair dark as night, moonlight caressing your bare skin—”

“Maker’s breath, not again,” Cullen groaned, tossing the reports he’d been reading on the desk.

Rylen lowered his mouth to her ear. “My fingers trace poetry on your body—”

“I’m leaving. Don’t use my office!” The door slammed shut behind him.

Rylen ran his thumb along the tattoo on her lip and chin, as though he were kissing her with his fingers, and murmured, “And that is how I’ll…I’ll love you, because I know of no other way.”

“You, ser, may write me love letters any time,” she breathed against his fingertips.

He pulled her body flush against his, wrapping his hand around the back of her head. “If I knew you wanted love letters, you’d have had them all along.”

“Let’s go,” she told him, a bit breathily as she seemed to have forgotten how to breathe, “I don’t want to take _too_ much advantage of your commander’s good graces.”

“As you wish.” Rylen lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss against the back, before intertwining their fingers and pulling her toward the door.

***

A sparring match had been arranged for the following day near dawn. Effie had been up and ready to go before the sky had even an inkling of sunlight, but Rylen had been more difficult to coax out of bed. He’d made her a rather tempting offer in an attempt to convince her to stay, but the last thing she wanted to do was give the seeker any more reason to suspect what was going on between them.

She knew the woman was considered one of the inquisitor’s closest companions. The night at the tavern had been fun, but it couldn’t happen again, as much as she hated that. They would have to be more careful about how frequently they were seen together.

Rylen had finally gotten out of bed and was dressing when she left to make her way down to the empty courtyard. She was pleased to find she was the first to arrive and settled onto a stump to wait, though she didn’t have long until Cassandra appeared.

“Good morning,” she greeted as soon as the other woman was close enough for her to not have to shout.

Cassandra returned the greeting, adding, “I trust you slept well?”

A smile appeared at her lips before she could stop it. There hadn’t been much in the way of sleeping. “Quite.”

“Ah” was all the response she received. Cassandra gestured toward the armory. “Shall we?”

Effie nodded and followed her into the dark room. She poked around some of the practice weapons, before venturing deeper.

“Can I help you?” Cassandra called after her.

“I’m looking for a staff.”

“A staff?”

“Quarterstaff,” Effie clarified. There were several in a back corner, though none quite what she’d prefer for herself. She measured the weight of one of the smaller ones in her hand. It would have to do.

Cassandra was at the door, looking out, as Effie made her way toward her. Before she reached the door, Cassandra stepped out and said, “Cullen. Rylen.”

They entered to grab weapons of their own. Cullen merely nodded at her, but as Rylen slid by, he rested his hand on her hip and gave her a gentle rub with his thumb. Effie couldn’t help but smile up at him, hoping the darkness of the room covered their interaction.

When she was back outside, Cassandra was waiting for her. “Should we start?”

At Effie’s nod, they moved to one of the practice areas and began.

It didn’t take long for Effie to realize she’d not been practicing enough against a worthy opponent, though she tried her best. After the fourth or fifth time Cassandra took her out, she took the opportunity for a break and flopped down onto the grass. Cassandra tossed her a skin of water before settling down next to her.

“Thank you,” Effie told her before taking a long swig. She wiped the sweat off her brow with her sleeve.

“I admit, I am impressed by your combat abilities.” Cassandra nodded at the quarterstaff on the ground next to them. “You are quite skilled.”

Effie smiled. “Not many expect it from a mage.”

“How did you learn?”

“The augur insisted.” At the time, Effie had been unhappy that the woman arranged for her to train with a sky watcher, a priest of the Lady of the Skies who used magic to augment his combat, though she had to admit it had come in useful quite frequently over the years.

“Augur?” Cassandra asked, “Is that…”

“Avvar.”

“You were with the Avvar?”

Effie pointed to her chin. “The tattoo didn’t give it away?”

“I suppose it might have.” Cassandra responded, “What does it mean?”

“Oh, nothing much. Just my dedication to their—and my—gods.”

“Your gods?”

“The Mountain-Father and the Lady.” Cassandra frowned at her, and Effie continued, “I’m not Andrastian.”

Cassandra was silent beside her as they both watched Cullen and Rylen sparring in a nearby space. Watching him from a distance, she was better able to see his speed. She’d realized he was fast when they’d sparred, though now she could see he moved more like a rogue than a warrior, though he used a sword and shield.

“Hawke, about you and Rylen…” Cassandra hesitated.

The air wooshed out of Effie’s lungs and she froze, staring at the sparring men as the options ran through her head. “I don’t know what you’re referring to,” Effie steadily responded as she slid her eyes over to the other woman.

“Oh! I thought…perhaps I am mistaken, but I see how he looks at you.”

“And how might that be?”

A small smile played at Cassandra’s lips as she nodded at the men across the courtyard. Effie followed the other woman’s eyes to Rylen. The way he was looking at her was as though she were the only person in the world, and at it the butterflies in her chest returned. She offered him a small smile in return.

“That look is not for me,” Cassandra added knowingly.

The smile fell from her face as Effie sharply turned to look the other woman in the eyes. “You are mistaken.”

Cassandra lifted her eyebrows and said, “Forgive me, but—”Effie’s jaw tensed as she tried not to react—“I do not believe I am.”

Effie stared at her without blinking until she heard a voice next to them. “Seeker Pentaghast? I have a report from the Nightingale.”

Cassandra lifted her eyebrows at Effie before she turned to take the paper from the scout hovering over them. She scanned it and with a sigh, pushed herself to her feet. “Commander!” she called and started toward him.

Cullen paused in his stretching. When Cassandra reached him, he nodded along at their subdued conversation. Rylen watched them and at some signal she had yet to learn, he gathered the practice weapons and they all started toward her.

“Sorry, Hawke, we need to get to the war room.”

“All of you?” she asked.

“I have clean up.” Rylen held up the practice weapons.

Effie could feel Cassandra’s eyes on her, so she addressed her. “Well matched, Pentaghast.”

“Thank you, Hawke,” the woman responded, even as her eyes darted to Rylen with that same knowing look on her face. Effie sighed as Cullen and Cassandra headed towards the keep.

“What’s that about?”

Effie stood and dusted herself off, before reaching to retrieve her staff and Cassandra’s equipment. Once she was reasonably sure there was no one else around, she told him, “She knows about us.”

“Does she?” he asked as he started for the armory.

“Yes.”

Rylen opened the door with his shoulder and she followed him inside. He put the swords away and was working on the shields when he said, “Could be worse.”

“How could it be worse?” she asked as she slotted the staff back its place. She’d hardly made a move to turn when she felt his arms wrap around her waist and he rested his chin on the top of her head. He didn’t respond, instead merely holding her. She didn’t dislike the idea of someone else knowing about them but the more people who knew, the harder it would be to keep from the inquisitor. “What if she tells someone?”

“I’ll talk to her.” He dropped a kiss to the top of her head and then released her. “Come on. First one back gets the hot bath.”

“Rylen!” she exclaimed, but he was already out the door, running across the courtyard. She gave chase, laughter and more rising within her as she sprinted after him toward the stairs to the ramparts.


	6. Awakened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After quite a bit of deliberation, I decided to rework one of the major parts of the story and removed some tags accordingly. Updates will continue to be slow as I figure out how the changes impact the overall storyline, but I believe they'll be for the better as they allow the characters to be more true to who they’ve become since I originally planned it out a year and a half ago.

“Lady Hawke!” The loud banging on the door roused her from her deep sleep. 

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, the person knocked and shouted again. Rylen grumbled next to her as he rolled over and pulled a pillow over his head. “Blasted dobber.”

She felt around for a robe, tightly wrapping it around her body, as she made her way to the door. When she pulled it open, a scout was standing there with her hand lifted to bang on it again. The woman quickly dropped her hand to her side. “Lady Hawke!”

“What time is it?”

“Quarter past midnight, milady,” the scout told her as she held up a letter and a small parcel. “From the ‘quisitor. ‘bassador Montilyet says deliver at once.”

“I was asleep,” Effie flatly responded as she stared at the parcel in the scout’s hands, feeling the uneasiness seep through her. They’d woken her for another gift.

The scout shoved both the parcel and the letter into Effie’s hands and hurried away, leaving Effie staring after her. Rylen’s sleep-laced voice called from behind her, “ _A leannan_? What is it?”

She stepped back into the room and turned, not able to see him in the darkness of the near moonless night. He fumbled to light a candle, the tiny spark of the match growing into a flame that cast a wider glow. Within seconds, she was standing next to the bed. She dropped the letter on the bed as she turned over the other item in her hands. “Another gift.”

He watched as she carefully unwrapped it. In the past weeks, he’d sent letter after letter, gift after gift. It started with letters of poetry and love, followed by tiny tokens and totems that made him think of her. The last gift had been a lovely pendant, and now this one was heavier than all the others before it. 

When she’d gotten the wrapping off, she stared at the necklace in her hands. It was stunning and sparkled in the candlelight. Extravagant. Too extravagant. She dropped it, watching the precious black stones dazzle as it crashed onto the stone floor with a loud clatter.

Rylen’s eyes were on her as she frowned down at the necklace, still shimmering in the dancing candlelight. He reached for the letter and held it out to her. Effie shook her head. She stepped back away from it. “You read it.”

He sighed, tearing apart the inquisitor’s golden wax seal. He leaned forward onto his forearms to get closer to the candle. As he read, Effie watched his face. It was unchanging as his eyes flickered over the full page. “Back within a few days looks like.”

“Already?”

Rylen nodded and dropped the letter on the floor next to the necklace. He held a hand out to her. “We best make the most of tonight then.”

“I suppose there are _some_ perks to being woken in the middle of the night,” she said. It was meant to be a tease, but it felt flat. 

She took his hand and he tugged her down onto the bed next to him. He wrapped her in his arms as he rolled to his side with her, peppering the side of her face with kisses. It was so playful, she couldn’t help but laugh. She half-heartedly pushed against his chest. “Rylen!”

“Keep’ll be empty at this hour,” he told her as he moved his lips down over her neck. “I have something to show you. Come on.”

He rolled out of bed. She didn’t move as he pulled his trousers over his hips and tied the stays, before pulling his undershirt over his head. When she still hadn’t moved, he pulled the blanket off her.

“You don’t have to steal the blanket to see me naked, you know,” she grumbled as she slid to the edge of the bed.

He smiled as he rolled it into a bundle. “But it’s such a fine view.”

When she’d finally dressed, he grabbed the bundled blanket, took her hand, and led her to a tower in one corner of the ramparts. There was still a hint of Hakkon’s wintery bite in the air, but he’d made sure she was warmly dressed before they’d left the comfort of her room. 

After climbing to the roof of the tower, he laid out the blanket. Once they’d settled on top of it, with her nestled against his warm body, he pointed up to the sky. “Those stars, see them?” 

Effie leaned into him, following the line of his fingers with her hands. He was pointing at Korth’s arrow. “I do.” 

“Follow the stars like this and you get the Sword of Mercy. Symbol of the Templar Order.”

“Is that so?”

“Aye.” He dropped his arm and wrapped it back around her and Effie leaned into him.

“Does it remind you of anything else?” she asked, turning her face up toward his. He glanced down at her with a frown on his face. “The Avvar have their own stories about the stars. For that one, most people assume it’d be Hakkon’s sword,” she told him, “But it’s not. It’s Korth’s arrow.”

“An arrow? I do recognize that.” Rylen lifted his fingers to her chin and ran one over her lip. She kissed his fingertips and he tightened his arms around her again. “What does it mean?” 

“The world in balance, and justice for those who walk a righteous path.”

“Same as the Sword of Mercy then.”

“Do you find it odd we both have that tattooed on our skin?” The Templar sword was the only tattoo he had that wasn’t the geometric shapes that continued from his face. Those ran up his arms and onto his chest, but the Sword had been tucked onto his side, hidden under his arm near his heart.

“Nae. I always knew you were a good woman.” 

Something about the compliment made heat rush to her cheeks. Instead of responding, she scanned the stars for another constellation to talk about. Her eyes quickly found the cluster she wanted. She pointed, making sure he knew what she was talking about as she told him, “Tell me about that one.”

“The Watchful Eye of the Maker? Legends say the Maker himself led Andraste north with that star and under His gaze she defeated Tevinter.”

“The Avvar still believe the Lady of the Skies opens her eye for her people to travel safely. It’s why it’s so clear in the Frostbacks.”

“A symbol of hope to many people. Like the Inquisition. It’s where our symbol’s from.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“There’s also a sword there.” He pointed down the middle. “Chantry says the star at the point—see that one?—appeared after Andraste’s death.” 

“Do they now? Typical Chantry, rewriting history.” Effie let out a huff of laughter, but Rylen didn’t laugh with her. She turned her face up toward his again. “You don’t believe that, do you?”

“I dinna. Who am I to question the Maker’s ways?”

“To question?” That didn’t make any sense given what she knew of him. She leaned back to get a better look at his face. “Rylen Clacher, are you religious?”

He shrugged. Effie studied him, surprised by the revelation. Cullen, she knew, was a man of deep faith who valued his institutions and rituals, but Rylen...she’d not known that. He’d always seemed so practical and reasonable; he always did what needed to be done, sacred duties or not. As long as she’d known him, she’d never known him to attend a service at all.

“I didn’t—” she broke off. The tensing of his body was enough. “I’m only surprised. I’ve never seen you pray, or do anything religious at all.” 

“Not all faith requires overt displays of belief, Effie,” he said quietly. 

She reached up for his face, needing the connection as she traced the shape of him with her fingers. She knew that he loved in action instead of words, and in service instead of attention seeking. It was one of the many things she adored about him. When her fingers reached his lips, he grasped her wrist and kissed her fingertips, before pulling her hand down to his chest. They lay together in silence, each of them gazing up at the stars. 

“What made you interested in learning constellations?”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Reminded me of you.” 

“Truly or are you flirting with me?”

He laughed. “It’s true that they do, but I learned them when I was younger. I’d look at the sky and wonder what else was out there beyond the Sheaves.”

“I thought you were from Starkhaven.” 

He let out a huff that he’d certainly intended to be laughter, though there was no levity in it. “I am.”

“But the Sheaves—”

“Are a part of Starkhaven the royal family pretends doesn’t exist. None of the nobility acknowledged it, except to throw some coin in our direction so we wouldn’t venture further.”

She tilted her face toward his, but from this angle she couldn’t see his face. “You did though.” 

Another huff. “By some gift of the Maker. My father was a fixer—mason, not the other kind—and worked with a master by the name of Galca. In a city built of stone, there was always work at least, but it was still a tough life with five boys at home.”

“You have four brothers?” She smiled as she absentmindedly played with the fabric of his shirt. “That explains why you’re so good with the recruits.” 

He pressed his lips to the top of her head and she felt him smile in return. “I’m the youngest.”

“What? No.” She glanced up at him. “Now I know you’re teasing me.” 

“I swear it.”

“You don’t act like it.”

“We grew up fast in the Sheaves,” he told her as he ran his fingers through her hair. Effie remained silent as he took a deep breath and said, “I didn’t want to work stone, like my older brothers—the two oldest—but the only other option for a kid from the Sheaves was crime.”

As he again lapsed into silence, Effie shifted in his arms so she could lay her head on his chest. She tightened her arm around his waist and waited for him to continue. Finally, he sighed, “I was headed that direction when I met Brother Gilead. He hired some of the local kids to do work around the Shantry.”

“Shantry?” she interrupted, unsure as to whether or not she’d heard him correctly.

“That’s what the minted called the Sheaves chantry. It was a run down old building. Folks would give what they could, but it wasn't much compared to the Grand Chantry up at the top of the hill.”

With the way his arms tightened around her and his body tightened under her, it obviously wasn’t a happy story. She knew a thing or two about unhappy childhoods. “Brother Gilead was a good sort, he’d give us kids a few coppers and a hot meal once we’d done the work,” he said when he finally spoke again. “While we ate, he’d tell us about Andraste and read us parts of the Chant…showed us how Andraste cared for people like us. He knew our struggles, but never treated us as less than. Never saw us that way.”

“Sounds like a good man.” 

“He was. And I was lucky to have someone like him. Without him, I’d be in some gang. Or dead.” 

Effie shuddered at the brusqueness of his words. She held no love for the Chantry as an institution, but she couldn’t help but be thankful to whatever god might be listening that it’d offered this one man a better way.

Rylen continued, “Brother Gilead convinced the Templars to take me, though I was older than the usual recruit.” 

So he’d been the oldest in his training group. That explained why he was so good with the recruits then. “How long were you in training?”

“Not long. I knew well enough how to fight, though I was undisciplined. Still I had my vigil before my eighteenth birthday.” 

“What’s that?”

“A vigil? When one becomes a Templar in every sense,” he hedged. It sounded like a non-answer to her, but if he didn’t want to talk about it, that was his choice. Gods knew she had her own secrets.

“After your vigil, they kept you in Starkhaven?”

“They did.” 

“Is that normal?”

There was a long pause as he considered the question. He finally replied, “I’ve no answer for that.”

She propped herself up on his chest. “Then you were in Starkhaven until you came to Kirkwall.”

“Aye,” he told her. 

“What did you think of Kirkwall?” 

His chest rumbled beneath her. “It wouldn’t be fair to Kirkwall for me to say.”

She playfully shook her head in response. “Aside from the obvious.”

“If I’m honest, I liked it.”

The next question was one she’d been wondering the answer to since they’d reconnected. She knew he would have stayed all those years ago, but now…“Would you go back?”

Out here in the mountains, the silence was almost complete and it grated at her. There were no sounds of the city and the keep had long since began its nightly slumber. She rose and fell with his chest as he took a deep breath. “If I’d a reason, I’d be glad to.”

Effie let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Now that she’d gotten that out of the way, there was something else…and now was as good a time as ever. “Rylen?”

“ _A leannan_?” His hand moved soothingly up and down her back. 

“Have you ever wanted to kiss me?”

His hand stilled, but his chest moved up and down beneath her in a heavy breath. “More than anything,” he admitted.

“Then why haven’t you?”

He chuckled and ran his hand up her back and into her hair. “That first night you had two rules: one night only and dinna kiss you. I blew through the first so I thought to be careful with the second. Not worth losing you over it.”

She lifted a hand to his cheek. “How well you know me.” 

He smiled as she rubbed her thumb over his cheek, caressing the scar there. She moved it lower, to his lips, slowly tracing the shape of them as he gazed back at her.

“Would you kiss me now?” The question was quiet, whispered as though she thought he might say no. He wouldn’t, of course he wouldn’t, but it was hard to ask all the same.

He wrapped his hand around her wrist as he gazed at her. When he spoke, his voice was low and controlled. “Effie, my love, I’d be more than glad to if you’ll have me.”

She nodded, and no more than a split second later he rolled them over until he hovered above her. One of his hands came to her face as he gazed into her eyes. He ran his thumb over her lips once, then twice, as Effie tried to quell the butterflies that had erupted in her stomach like she was a teenage girl all over again.

She had been the last time she’d let someone kiss her, and it was then that she swore she never would again. 

“Be gentle with me,” she pleaded.

He brushed his nose against hers as he lowered his face, pausing before their lips met and took several breaths of the same, shared air. Then, ever so gently, his lips met hers. When they did, all the reasons she’d built up over the years to not kiss anyone disappeared. His lips were warm and full and as perfect against her own as they’d been everywhere else on her body.

He took the lead, commanding her response and reactions to him. She did her best to match the movement of his lips, and tongue, and hands, and body, but the feel of him against her as he explored her mouth was more than she’d thought it could be. She could do this for hours, days, all time, his lips were incredible on hers.

When he finally pulled away, she had to breathe heavily in an attempt to catch her breath, and Rylen was very much doing the same above her.

“So how’d I do?” she asked in an attempt to return them to some normalcy. She’d felt a full range of emotions when it had come to this man, but there was something about this new intimacy that pushed them to undiscovered territory. She didn’t know what to make of it or how to navigate it.

He let out a steadying breath. “You need more practice.”

“I do?”

The initial disappointment didn’t get a chance to take hold inside her as his hand tightened in her hair and he lowered his face back toward hers. “Aye, a lot more.”

***

When they were together, time lost all meaning. Whether minutes had passed or hours, Effie rarely knew. All she cared about was how everything seemed to come down to the feeling she had when she was wrapped in him. 

Tonight had been no different as they lay intertwined together in the afterglow, and Effie listened to the gentle beating of Rylen's heart. She spread her fingers wide, flattening her palm against his chest as it unfalteringly pulsed beneath her. It was such an odd thing: the beating of a heart. The very lifeblood of another, steady and sure, thrumming in an unending rhythm.

It was extraordinary what a heart could bear. Joys and pain, happiness and sorrow. No matter what it had seen, how much it had borne, still it continued on as sure as the sun would rise tomorrow. She’d often wondered if hers even worked after all that she’d endured and all the sorrow she’d wrought; if there was even a space, hidden away in its deep recesses, that still had the capacity to be filled so completely by another.

She breathed him in, marveling at how he still smelled of the warmth of summer, even here in the Frostbacks. His scent that of Justinian in full bloom; of orange blossoms and fresh ginger; of lemons and the ground beneath her after a mild rain.

He let out a soft sigh as he shifted and his arm tightened around her—arms that were a safeguard from the world beyond their bed and beyond this room…the world she didn’t have to acknowledge as long as she was here with him.

The reality of how temporary this really was surfaced in the back of her mind. Her chest contracted and the sensation that had been blossoming deep inside shifted to uncomfortable. Unbearingly so. It hurt, this ridiculous lump that had lodged itself in there. It was too much.

She sat up and slid to the edge of the bed, a thousand tiny needle pricks behind her eyes as she fought to get whatever was happening inside of her under control.

_Oh gods_.

Then his arms slid around her and he pressed his lips to her back, and simply held her. His quiet presence—steady and unyielding—calmed whatever unease had risen within her and it was then that she knew…yet even as the words threatened to burst from within her, she couldn’t give voice to them. They were new and wholly unfamiliar and Effie was _utterly terrified_.

“I’m scared,” she whispered into the darkness instead. It was both a confession and an offering of a piece of her soul.

“I know.” Those simple words told her everything. He always did. He’d always known her better than she knew herself and he always gave her exactly what she needed.

To the outside world he may be no more than a good soldier. Straightforward and practical, solid and reliable. The one you wanted around to get things done. Yet here…here in the quiet intimacy they’d created together, away from prying eyes and wagging tongues, she saw him for who he truly was. A man who could be both hard and soft, gentle and strong, and be all the more extraordinary for it. _Her_ man.

“What do we...how does...” she trailed off, the words lost to the upheaval inside her. She twisted in his arms as the need to see him, to look him in the eye, overwhelmed her. The barest hint of moonlight reflected in them and what she saw there was certain, as steady as the mountain beneath her, unyielding against her chaos. 

He lowered his forehead to hers and simply breathed. When the storm within her finally calmed, he murmured, “Just like this.”


End file.
